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VVA-Jl^!^U^C•l^i    DC    '' 


-■ -jr*\  '^^^  ^  ^ 



\  T^\ 

North  Carolina  State  Library 
Raleigh  _  ^ 




Sat.  Jav.  viii.  20^ 







\ssociate  Judge  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  North  Carolina, 


As  a  slight  token  of  regard  and   esteem, 


are  inscribed  with  permission, 





I  have  no  inducement  to  publish  these  attempts,  except 
the  wishes  of  a  few  friends,  and  their  gratification  is 
the  best  recompense  which  1  can  expect  for  my  labors. 
Written  mostly  under  the  painful  pressure  of  adversity,  they 
contributed  not  a  little,  to  calm  the  sorrows  of  my  mind 
and  fill  the  vacancy  of  banished  hopes.  If  they  could  di- 
vert for  a  moment  the  griefof  others,  similarly  circumstanc- 
ed, the  wish  of  my  heart.would  be  fulfilled,  and  the  height 
of  my  ambition  attained:  but  to  diffuse  the  smiles  of  benev- 
olence over  the  features  of  suffering  worth,  is  a  happiness 
not  given  unto  all. 

Respecting  the  nature  of  this  little  work,  I  have  not  much 
to  remark.  Let  the  errors  of  these  pages  be  attributed  to 
their  author;  he  has  endeavored  to  follow  the  advice  of  Boi- 

**Que  votre  ame  et  vos  moeurs,  peintes  dans  vos  ouvrages, 
"!N  offrent  jamais  de  vous,  que  de  nobles  images." 

BOILEAU.   ART.  POET.    CHAJiTT.   IT.  90. 

And,  whatever  noble  thoughts,  or  exalted  sentiments,  he 
may  have  expressed,  he  wishes  to  be  assigned  to  the  sources 
whence  they  were  derived.  "Men's  evil  manners  live  in 
brass,  their  virtues  we  write  on  water."  If  I  have  not 
flattered  the  frailties  of  human  nature,  it  is  because  I  would 
not  ascend  to  fame  by  the  paths  of  artifice,  or  descend  to 
notoriety,  by  fawning  on  the  footsteps  of  vice:  and  the  mod- 
est worth  and  dnassuming  name  of  an  Ichabod  Crane,  or  a 
Domine  Sampson,  better  become  the  simple  pretensions  of 


Shocco  Springs,  N.  Ca.    "> 
September  3d,  1839  j 


Hermit  of  the  Alps — 
Part  I, 



Ode  on  the  4tli  of  July,  61 
"  "  People  of  the  Sea,  63 
"  "  Child  of  Poverty,  65 
ThePromise  of  Abraham,  QQ 
The  Sons  of  Loyola,  68 
To  a  Nun,  69 

The  Vow,  72 

Stanzas,  73 

On  Chapel  Hill,  73 

Despondency,  75 

The  Fire  Fly,  77 

To  a  consoling  Friend,  79 
Female  Influence,  79 

The  Ruins  of  St.  Albans,  81 
To  Miss  J.  M.  84 

On  Woman,  85 

To  Adelaide,  87 

The  Soldier's  Return,  88 
The  Song  of  Rebecca,  90 
To  Agnes,  91 

To  mine  Island,  93 

Mary's  Lament,  95 

To  Susan,  95 


A  Comparison,  98 

Lines  on  Woman,  99 

The  Scrap  Girl,  99 
The  Soliloquy  of  Cce- 

lebs,  100 

Stanzas,  100 
The  Peri  and  the  Rose 

Bud,  102 

Where  are  the  Patriots,  104 

To  a  young  Poet,  104 

To  Lucy,  105 

The  Wanderer,  106 

On  reading  a  Tragedy,  107 

To  Lucy,  108 

The  Flower  of  Life,  110 

A  Poet's  Excuse,  111 

A  Poet  to  himself.  111 

Lily  of  the  Valley,  112 

To  Mary,  113 

The  Pages  of  Life,  114 
To  Edward  on  his  biith 

Day,  117 

On  Edward's  Death,  119 

Edward's  Epitaph,  120 

Little  William  's  dead,  120 
Translations    from  the 

Italian,  121 


StJje  ^tmit  nt  t\)t  atp^, 

A    TALE. 


Oh!  he  would  rather  houseless  roani. 
Where  freedom  and  his  God  may  lead^ 

Than  be  the  sleekest  slave  at  home, 
That  crouches  to  the  conqueror's  creed. 




A    T  A  I-E. 


Where  the  blue  rolling  Aar's  torrent  tide 

Indents  the  rifted  Schreckhorn's  cragged  side, 

And  leaping  streams  divide  the  dark  pine  wood, 

A  Hermit's  hut  in  lonely  rudeness  stood. 

The  morn  awoke  and  left  her  rosy  bow'r, 

Hailed  the  tall  trees,  and  kissed  each  mountain  fiow'r. 

With  deepened  g:\o\v  the  woods  responsive  gleamed; 

The  lovely  cups  of  wanton  flowers  beamed 

With  velvet  lips  of  blue,  or  gold,  or  ruby  red, 

As  nature  bless'd  the  children  of  her  bed; 

And  far,  between  its  emerald  banks  of  green. 

The  river,  like  a  silver  path,  was  seen: 

When  the  warm  sun  withdrew  the  modest  clouds, 

In  which  chaste  night  her  silent  concave  shrouds. 

The  morning  prayer  and  early  matins  o'er, 
The  pious  man  before  his  open  door, 
As  wont,  in  adoration's  holy  mood. 
Admiring  God,  in  earth's  creations,  stood. 
A  small  cascade  of  bright  descending  dew. 
Fell  mingling  with  the  light  of  every  hue, 
Which  softly  parting  like  the  ceaseless  spray, 
Gilded  the  waters,  on  their  painted  way. 
Aloft,  the  Chamois  sprano;  from  rock  to  rock. 
Along  the  woods  on  flew  the  mountain  Cock. 

4  THE    HERMIT    OF 

The  Eagle  soared  on  high,  thro'  cloudless  skies, 
The  boast  of  youth  and  vigor  in  his  cries. 
The  nimble  Squirrel  on  the  pine  tops  play'd, 
The  Leveret  on  the  lawn,  her  gambols  made. 
Above  the  cliffs,  bounded  the  mountain  Goats, 
The  forest  minstrels  raised  their  varied  notes; 
Deep  on  the  ear,  the  soft-toned  mellow  bell 
Of  the  herd's  leader,  toll'd  a  pleasing  knell: 
And  while  the  herdsman's  rude  and  native  cry, 
In  floating  echoes  wildly  seem'd  to  die. 
The  sweeter  songstress  of  the  rocky  dell, 
Enchants  the  passive  air  with  tuneful  spell. 
The  day's  great  ruler  now  with  radiant  light. 
Breathed  on  the  dew-drops  of  the  tearful  night, 
Called  up  a  misty  dimness  from  the  green, 
And  threw  a  veil  of  softness  o'er  the  scene. 
The  'rapt  adorer  saw  and  grateful  smiled 
In  meditation  holy,  calm  and  mild; 
His  placid  mind  as  even  and  serene, 
As  the  still  loveliness  of  that  soothing  scene. 

But  lovelier  than  these  channs  of  vale  or  hill, 
A  maiden  stranger  bends  to  taste  the  rill. 
Grace,  in  the  softness  of  her  looks  was  seen, 
Exalted  virtue  and  a  modest  mien: 
Though  slightly  shaded  by  her  blushing  fears, 
Her  artless  sorrows  and  her  gushing  tears. 
Like  sunbeams  smiling  thro'  the  v/int'ry  show'r. 
Or  green  light  piercing  thro'  the  leafy  bow'r. 
Her  hasty  step  and  'wildered  cheek  expressed 
The  timid  boldness  of  a  heart  distressed. 
Too  coy  to  press,  too  firm  to  yield,  she  moved, 
A  suitor  half  rejected,  half  reproved. 


And  in  the  presence  of  the  aged  man, 
Lowly  her  moving  prayer  she  thus  began: 

"Father  revered,  with  heavenly  wisdom  blessed, 
**  Hear  one  of  womankind  the  most  distressed; 
"  Well  may  I  rue  the  hour  of  luckless  birth, 
''  Oppressed  with  all  the  ills  of  all  this  earth. 
''  Unhappy  me  !  I  hither  come  to  sue, 
*'  Counsel  and  aid  from  thy  profession  due. 
**  My  truth  and  innocence,  just  Heaven  well  knows, 
*'  But  sad  and  terrible  my  tale  of  woes. 
'*  No  friend,  no  refuge,  now  remains  for  me, 
''  No  hope,  save  death,  despair,  and  misery ! 
"  The  Dove  has  wings,  the  Hart  and  Roe  have  feet, 
**  To  bear  their  terrors  to  some  safe  retreat; 
"  The  Bee  its  sting,  the  Lamb  and  Kid  have  horns, 
*'For  self  defence,  the  Rose  Bud  too  its  thorns: 
"  But  what  have  I  to  ward  off  evil  harms, 
*' Save  Heaven  and  virtues  disregarded  charms? 
"  Oh  Father,  do  not  turn  thy  child  away; 
*'  Or  leave  mine  innocence  to  vice  a  prey. 
"  Distress  and  anguish  make  me  here  intrude, 
''  No  willing  guest  upon  thy  solitude." 

At  first  the  charming  suppliant  turn'd  to  brook 
Repulse  and  stemess  in  the  hermit-s  look. 
For  either  dread  of  guile  had  caused  alarm. 
Or  else  he  feared  the  power  of  beauty's  charm. 
But  soon,  the  tempest  of  his  spirit  fled. 
And  sweetest  kindness  o'er  his  features  spread. 
Like  the  clear  lamp  of  midnight's  silent  hour, 
Beaming  soft  light  on  philomela's  bow'r. 
Whose  melancholy  strains  make  music  wild. 
Was  the  Hermit's  smile  on  that  guiltless  child. 


As,  with  a  father's  tenderness  he  spoke, 

''  Sweet  maid,  my  feehngs  thou  hast  deeply  woke. 

*'  What  made  thee  leave  thy  parent's  sheltering  roof, 

*'  And  thus  expose  thyself  to  rude  reproof? 

"Yet  why,  oh!  why  kind  Providence  accuse, 

''  His  dispensations  blame,  his  gifs  abuse? 

"  Misfortunes,  which  the  world  calls  woe, 

"  May  be  the  richest  boon  God  grants  below 

*'  To  the  loved  children  of  his  favorite  care. 

''  The  stepstones  these  to  genuine  virtue  are. 

*'  Whatever  evils  he  inflicts  in  ,this, 

"  In  the  next  world  are  changed  to  bliss. 

*'  Talk  not  of  luckless  birth;  nor  call  me  blest; 

''  For  none  are  truly  so  but  souls  at  rest. 

"  In  God's  sweet  confidence  thy  sorrows  hush, 

"  Thy  littleness  of  faith  might  make  me  blush. 

'*  No  arms  for  self-defence  if  w^oman  wear, 

"  Hemember  she  is  God's  peculiar  cape; 

"  He  most  delights  to  prove  his  mighty  power 

"  In  the  frail  woman  and  the  frailer  flower. 

'*  But — welcome,  child,  here  in  my  dwelling  rest, 

"  Here  calm  the  billows  of  thy  troubled  breast. 

*'  Thy  fainting  spirits  and  thy  strength  repair, 

"  With  my  kind  welcome  and  a  hermit's  fare. 

''  Then,  seek  the  gentlest  boon  of  bounteous  Heaven; 

"  Kepose  to  calm  the  mind  was  kindly  given. 

*'  Then  would  I  listen  to  thv  tender  tale, 

''  And  counsel  what  may  best  in  need  avail. 

"  But  mainly  be  thy  vows  to  him  addressed, 

"  Whose  arm  has  power  to  succor  the  distressed. 

"  Banish  thy  fears,  confide,  no  foe  is  nigh, 

"  Repose  thee  here,  in  Heaven's  all-seeing  eye. 

OF    THE    ALPS. 

*'  He  feeds  the  sparrov/,  he  protects  the  rose, 
'  And  the  sweet  lily  of  the  valley  clothes." 

'Tis  strange  how  small  a  drop  of  pity's  balm 
Will  'snage  affliction's  overweaning  qualm: 
And  what  a  stillness  one  sweet  kindred  tear 
Diffuses  o'er  the  troubled  weaves  of  fear. 
In  calmness  dies  the  mighty  tempest's  power. 
*  How  bright  is  the  sunshine  after  the  shower!' 

The  good  man  press'd  her  to  his  simple  food, 
Herbs,  fruits,  and  bread  in  bowls  of  maple  wood. 
And  eggs,  and  honey  from  the  insects'  hoard, 
And  limpid  water  in  the  neat  trimra'd  gourd. 
Kind  words  of  comfort  formed  the  light  dessert, 
And  winning  tales  her  sorrow  to  divert. 
He  cheered  his  guest,  she  dried  her  ebbing  tears; 
The  smile  upon  her  moistened  cheek  appears. 
'Twas  now  a  fitting  time,  the  Hermit  saw. 
From  the  recruited  stranger  to  withdraw. 
"  My  duty's  call  prevents  my  longer  stay," 
He  said;  *'  when  duty  calls  I  must  obey. 
The  setting  sun  shall  see  my  prompt  return, 
To  share  thy  sorrows  and  thy  tale  to  learn. 
Accept,  meanwhile,  my  cottage  for  thy  home, 
Fear  not,  no  daring  foe  will  hither  roam; 
No  wealth  I  own  to  tempt  the  spoiler's  hand; 
No  hunter  treads  this  lonely,  pathless  land; 
No  foot,  save  thine,  ere  sought  my  deep  retreat. 
And  Heaven  directed  thy  unerring  feet. 
Then  bid  adieu  to  trouble  and  distress. 
And  steep  thy  cares  in  dumb  forgetfulness." 

He  left  the  maiden  at  his  humble  shed. 
Then  on  his  way  with  secret  pleasure  sped; 


And  as  the  road  to  Unterseen  he  trod, 

Mased  on  the  bounteous  providence  of  God: 

How  each  divided  interest  links  the  whole, 

How  virtue  harmonizes  with  the  soul, 

How  justice  regulates  the  general  weal; 

And  told  his  aves  and  his  creeds  with  zeal. 

For  Fra'  Gherardo  had  a  mind  endowed 

With  all  the  learning  that  the  age  allowed. 

Long  had  he  studied  at  scholastic  lore. 

And  o'er  the  classic  sages  loved  to  pore. 

But  nature  gave  him  wit  and  guiding  sense, 

And  warmed  his  heart  with  her  benevolence. 

Full  well  the  precjpts  of  hi«  God  he  knew. 

His  voice  he  heard,  and  from  the  world  withdrew: 

Nor  e'er  to  life  or  luxury  returned; 

So  strongly  in  his  faithful  bosom  burned 

The  flame  of  holy  love,  which,  beaming  forth. 

Oft  urged  his  soul  to  deeds  of  real  worth. 

Frequent,  in  winter's  storm,  he  rushed  to  save 

Some  heedless  traveller  from  an  icy  grave. 

When,  heaped  on  high,  the  hills  of  fleecy  snow 

Roll  down  like  mountains  on  the  paths  below; 

And  gather,  as  they  go,  the  bulk  and  force 

To  crush  woods,  rocks  and  meadows  in  their  course. 

He  sealed  the  fountains  of  domestic  strife; 

He  won  the  prodigal  to  better  life; 

Or  by  the  bed  of  wretchedness  and  grief, 

Diflused  the  balmy  sweetness  of  relief. 

Such  his  delight,  beloved  by  all  around, 

By  all  a  bosom  friend,  a  father  found. 

Unknov/n  alike  his  parentage  and  name, 

His  pious  actions  were  his  only  fame. 

OF    THE    ALPS.  9 

Yet  envious  tongues  were  found  to  hint  a  crime, 

Committed  by  the  man  in  youth's  bold  prime; 

For  most  he  loved  to  minister  sv^reet  peace, 

To  dying  souls  when  struggling  for  release. 

Or  agonized  with  pangs  of  conscious  guilt, 

For  deeds  of  horror  and  of  blood  ill  spilt. 

And  now  upon  some  enterprise  of  good, 

He  vanished  swifdy  through  the  dark  green  wood. 

Bertha,  ihe  simple,  unaffected  maid. 
Alone,  within  Gherardo's  dwelling  staid; 
And  laid  her  wearied  limbs  and  anxious  head 
In  lesignation  on  the  moss-strewn  bed. 
One  fearful  thought  her  cool  reflection  drew. 
And  fraught  with  danger,  if  it  should  be  true. 
For  she  remembered  now,  her  nurse's  tales, 
(The  nurse's  tale  upon  the  girl  prevails,) 
Of  dark  assassins  wrapped  in  monk's  attire, 
Whose  holy  lips  unholy  thoughts  inspire. 
Whose  meek  and  holy  looks  belie  their  heart. 
Whose  pious  words  are  lengthened  out  with  art. 
Until  the  hospitable  Baron  sleeps — 
To  murder  then  the  treacherous  ruffian  creeps. 
With  bloody  stabs  the  friendly  cheer  repays. 
And  a  rich  treasure  to  his  cave  conveys: 
Or  of  some  female  penitent  beguiled, 
And  slily  by  the  seeming  friar  wiled. 
To  some  lone  cavern  far  away  from  men, 
Digg'd  deep  by  bandits  for  their  secret  den; 
Where,  startled  by  the  dagger  brandished  high, 
She  finds  lo  save  her  honor  she  must  die, 
Cut  off  with  all  her  sins  upon  her  head, 
To  stand  a  trial  which  a  saint  would  dread. 

10  THE    HERMIT 

''  What  if  Gherardo  be  a  ruffian  too!" 

Thought  she,  *'  the  leader  of  a  robber-crew! 

Perhaps  he  will  return  to  murder  me, 

Where  none  shall  ever  hear,  or  ever  see! 

What  if  the  wretches,  worse  than  pangs  of  death 

For  foul  designs  prolong  my  dying  breath, 

And  keep  me  here  in  guilt  and  burning  shame, 

To  weep  in  infamy  my  ruined  fame. 

Oh  God!  how  dreadful  is  that  thought  to  one, 

A  woman,  weak,  abandoned  and  alone! 

Have  I  for  this  relinquished  all  below, 

All  that  I  loved — and  but — to  perish    so? 

Oh  that  my  Friedenfeld's  heroic  hand 

Were  here,  to  save  me  from  this  wicked  band! 

r.  Till  I  behold  his  noble  features  by, 

r  Each  moment  of  delay  's  eternity. 

But — whither  do  my  troubled  senses  run? 
Gherardo's  fame  declares  him  virtue's  son. 
Safely  thus  far  my  God  hath  guided  me: 
Why  should  I  doubt  that  God's  fidelity? 
For  I  have  kept  his  holy  faith  unstained, 
His  sacred  love  has  in  my  bosom  reigned, 
I  always  sought  to  do  his  holy  will, 
My  Lord,  my  Maker,  oh  protect  me  still! 
"Ah!  litt'e  did  I  think  what  'tis  to  feel 
Love's  burning  longings  and  eternal  zeal! 
How  sluggishly  the  aching  moments  gam 
On  the  mad  current  of  my  troubled  brain! 
Yainly  I  quench  the  hope  that  still  revives, 
And  multiplies  its  never  dying  lives; 
Inly  repining,  feeds  regret's  keen  flame. 
Then  starts  into  the  cheek  the  blush  of  shame. 

OF   THE    ALPS.  11 

Oh!  none  but  those  who  love  can  feign  or  know 
Such  tortured  agony,  such  pining  woe, 
It  feels  as  if  the  loving  soul  would  melt 
Into  the  lover's  soul  for  whom  't  is  felt. 
And  burning  with  an  ever  quenchless  rage. 
The  heart's  desire  still  fiercer  fires  assuage. 

"  But,  can  this  feeling  of  the  heart  be  wrong, 
Or  should  all  love  to  God  alone  belong? 
I  cannot  waste  it  on  the  common  world, 
'T  is  ever  'round  the  dear-loved  image  curl'd, 
Where  honor,  virtue,  worth  and  grace  display 
The  harmony  and  beauty  of  each  lovely  trait. 
I  love  my  guardian,  and  Hove  my  friends. 
But  no  one's  friendship  ever  thus  my  bosom  rends. 
This,  by  opposing  impulse  stronger  grows, 
By  anguish  nourished  and  increased  by  woes. 
It  dreams,  but  never  sleeps,  yet  seeks  for  rest, 
It  pants,  and  heaves,  and  writhes  the  longing  breast. 
Once  my  young  passions,  and  my  thoughts  were  free; 
They  roamed  at  large  on  all  mine  eye  could  see. 
Imprisoned  now,  and  bound  by  love's  strong  chain, 
The  few  that  wander  thence  seem  most  in  pain. 
Turning  like  sunflowers  to  their  own  bright  urn. 
For  which  their  glowing  petals  bloom  and  burn. 
No  other  impulse,  Love,  can  dout  thy  lamp, 
No!  not  despair  with  all  its  dread  and  damp: 
No  time,  no  strength  can  tear  it  from  the  soul. 
V/hy  then  should  nature  b'ush  atTbve's  control? 
Is  it  because  we  tremble  to  reveal 
A  passion  that  another  may  not  feel? 
Or  is  it  that  a  woman's  weakness  shrinks 
To  tell  another  what  it  feels  and  thinks? 

12  THE    HERMIT 

How  confident  is  mutual  love  when  told! 
Could  evil  make  the  human  heart  so  bold? 
The  pure  affections  of  our  virgin  youth 
By  conscience  are  approved,  by  bliss  and  truth.'* 

Meantime  the  balmy  sweets  of  downy  sleep 
In  silent  calmness  on  her  senses  creep: 
Then  'witching  fancy  waves  her  mimic  wand, 
The  sportive  figures  rise  at  her  command; 
In  radiant  colors  and  in  bright  attire, 
They  dance,  divide  or  join  iu  scenic  choir. 
Now  gay  in  clouds  of  bright  effulgence  lost, 
Now  darkly  mingling  in  confusion  tost. 
All  she  had  beautiful  and  lovely  seen. 
Were  represented  in  one  sunny  scene 
Of  love  and  friendship,  happiness  and  bliss. 
Pleasures  unseen  in  any  world  like  this. 
Banquets,  with  rosy  flowers,  in  silver  shine. 
And  golden  goblets  sparkle  with  rich  wine. 
In  gushing  rills  the  crystal  fountain  springs. 
The  cooling  zephyrs  fan  their  fragrant  wings, 
India's  rare  gums  their  rich  perfumes  dispense, 
Breathing  sweet  odors  to  regale  the  sense; 
From  golden  harps  harmonious  numbers  rise. 
And  anfifels  swell  the  music  of  the  skies. 
Meantime  the  hero,  whom  her  soul  adores. 
Words  of  more  exquisite  music  pours. 
'T  is  vanished! — cold  and  dank  a  chill  succeeds, 
Phantasms  and  spectres  clad  in  bloody  weeds. 
And  skeletons,  where  earth-worms  crawl  about; 
I  heir  lipless  teeth,  and  eyeless  sockets  out. 
That  waked  from  coffins,  in  their  clammy  grasp, 
Th'  affrighted  maid  with  icy  fingers  clasp. 

OF    THE    ALPS.  13 

Her  delicate  and  snowy  bosom  round, 
Those  chilly  bones,  like  links  of  steel  are  wound. 
Her  cold  limbs  quiver,  and  her  creeping*  flesh 
Starts  from  the  nerves  to  burst  that  iron  mesh. 
Horror! — she  wakes — the  pealing  thunder  roars, 
The  rattling  hail,  the  rain  in  torrents  pours. 
Gleams  the  red  lightning  from  the  pitchy  clouds, 
A.nd  heaven's  black  canopy  deep  darkness  shrouds. 

A  woman's  weakness  trembles  in  her  tears; 
Her  mind's  true  force  in  peril's  hour  appears. 
Bertha,  in  real  and  unreal  woes. 
Secure  in  innocence,  her  courage  shovv^s; 
A.nd  firmly  to  the  will  of  God  resigned. 
Dispels  the  visions  of  her  rutHed  minu; 
And  o'er  the  struggles  of  her  timid  soul, 
She  strives  with  fortitude  to  hold  control. 
Her  resolution  still  remained  her  own, 
And  chained  her  weakness  to  her  reason's  throne. 
The  Zungfrau,  thus,  exalts  her  silver  crown, 
And  smiles  upon  the  storms  that  round  her  frown; 
Undimm'd  in  all  the  lustre  of  her  pride, 
Whilst  stormy  tempests  tear  her  rocky  side. 

arf}e  ^tmit  tȣ  ti)t  m^^ 

A    TALE. 



Far  to  the  right,  where  Appenine  ascends, 
Bright  as  the  summer  Italy  extends. 

Goldsmith's  Traveller. 

North  Carolina  State  Library 

THE  HERmr  *§F  THE  ALPS. 

PART   n. 

The  beams  of  liglit  in  their  effulgent  urn, 
With  noontide  power  and  radiant  gloiy  burn, 
And  shed  their  gladness  on  the  mountain's  head, 
The  shady  forest's  bower,  and  river's  rocky  bed. 
The  winding  lake  its  crystal  bosom  shows, 
As  bright  as  blue  Heaven  above  it  glows, 
Spreading  its  waters  like  a  mirror  there, 
To  mark  the  calmness  of  the  stilly  air. 
No  sighing  leaf  the  breath  of  zephyr  waves. 
The  pebbly  beach  no  rippling  billow  laves, 
Nor  is  a  wrinkle  on  the  water  spread, 
All  is  so  motionless,  so  hushed  and  dead; 
While  the  fair  features  of  the  landscape  near. 
Like  varied  fringework  'round  the  lake  appear, 
Reflected  on  the  margin  clear  and  bright. 
In  all  the  tempered  dies  of  shade  and  light. 
Yet  nature  seems  to  dread  the  coming  storm. 
With  passive  awe  impressed  upon  her  form. 
While  Fra'  Gherardo  thro'  the  valley  past, 
And  from  the  boding  danger  hurried  fast. 
At  first  he  saw  the  gathering  darkness  rise. 
With  serried  clouds,  to  veil  the  frowning  skies. 
Then  anxious  hastened  on  his  homeward  track: 
But  the  tempest  pursued  on  wings  of  black. 
Oft  from  the  besom  of  the  dark  mass  came 

18  THE    HERMIT 

Bursts  of  the  livinor  liahtninor's  lurid  flame. 

And  quick  successive  to  the  sulphurous  flash, 

AVas  heard,  the  loud  reverberating  crash 

Of  thunder,  leaping  down  from  hill  to  hill; 

It  pauses — for  a  moment  all  is  still: 

Then  a  new  flood  of  fire  is  seen  to  break, 

And  sweep  the  ether  with  a  blazing  wake: 

Anew  the  echoing  thunder's  deepened  roar 

Groaned,  crashed,  and  bellowed  more  and  more. 

The  terrible  tornado's  howling  moan 

Roll'd  on,  and  almost  drown'd  the  thunders  tone, 

And  as  the  whirlwind  o'er  the  pine  wo6d  past, 

The  stately  trees  bowed  down  before  the  blast, 

Their  trunks  are  torn  from  earth,  like  broken  reeds, 

Trees  upon  trees  are  piled,  like  trampled  weeds. 

Shrabs,  vineyards,  houses  and  the  waving  grain. 

Are  tost  and  scattered  by  the  hurricane. 

The  ratding  of  the  hail  and  sleet  and  rain, 

Bursts  like  a  deluge  on  the  ravaged  plain. 

The  raorino^  torrents,  down  the  mountains  pour, 

And  chafe  and  foam  the  precipices  o'er. 

Now,  from  the  skies  the  awful  levin  broke. 

And  hurled  its  vengfeance  on  the  sturdy  oak. 

Headlong  with  all  its  leafy  honors  reft. 

Cracked,  scorched,  in  thousand  splinters  cleft. 

Dispersed  and  drifted  o'er  the  blackened  sod, 

It  falls,  all  blasted  by  the  fire  of  God. 

Wide  spreads  the  desolation  to  the  view, 

Illumined  by  the  sheet  of  living  blue. 

That,  broad  o'er  the  canopy  of  Heav'n  breaks, 

And  glitters  on  the  Screckhorn's  crago^y  peaks. 

Then  came  a  pause  of  murkiness  and  gloom — 

OF    THE    ALPS.  19 

The  thunder  sunk  into  the  earth's  dread  tomb — 
The  muttering  echo  hushed — the  storm  is  still, 
What  shriek  is  that  so  pierceing,  wild  and  shrill?— 
It  startled  e'en  Gherardo's  placid  ear. 
And  well  nigh  made  his  stout  heart  quail  with  fear. 
He  stood  unmoved — and  felt  no  war  withm, 
Amid  the  tempest's  elemental  din* 
Or  if  an  anxious  thought  his  bosom  swayed, 
'Twas  apprehension  for  the  stranger  maid. 
Thus  the  bold  stag,  with  stately  antlers  crown'd, 
Whom  horns  and  hounds  and  hunters  bay  around, 
Safe  on  some  lofty  brow  among  the  clouds. 
Looks  fearless  dowmupon  the  panting  crowds. 
That  shriek!  swift  as  an  eagle's  headlong  swoop. 
That  down  the  skies  upon  his  prey  would  stoop: 
Hushed  the  good  hermit  to  the  spot,  w^hence  sprang 
The  cry,  that  in  his  ears  still  tingling  rang. 
There  lay  the  victims  of  the  thunder  stroke. 
Mixed  with  the  fragments  of  the  shivered  oak. 
One  stiff  and  cold  within  the  grasp  of  death, 
The  other  struggling  with  convulsive  breath. 
Their  glittering  weapons  near  their  owners  lay, 
The  tell-tales  of  some  deadly  feud  that  day. 
The  bloody  stains  upon  their  hands  and  dress. 
Confirmed  the  tokens  of  their  wrathfulness. 
One  shining  blade,  far  from  its  widowed  sheath, 
Was  scorched  and  melted  by  the  lightning's  breath. 
Its  owner  lifeless,  stretched  on  earth's  cold  bed, 
Bore  the  blanched  honors  of  an  aged  head. 
Stern  were  his  looks,  and  lofty  once  his  brow, 
But  grim  and  terrible  their  blackness  now. 
Viewing  his  features  with  observant  eye, 

20  THE    HERMIT 

The  hermit  judged  his  lineage  must  be  high. 

He  raised  the  other's  young  and  slender  frame, 

Whose  speech,  returning  with  his  spirt  came. 

His  troubled  pulse  with  stronger  current  beat, 

When  the  stunned  youth  regained  his  tottering  feet. 

Abashed  he  stood,  astonished  and  confused, 

The  blush  of  shame  his  countenance  suffused. 

But  when  the  life-tide  to  his  breast  returned, 

Deep  indignation  in  his  eye-balls  burned; 

And  all  the  courage  of  the  hero  rushed 

To  those  expressive  features,  that  had  blushed. 

''  The  awful  edge  of  Heaven's  avenging  fire 

Hath  come  between  my  father  and  his  ire," 

He  said,  and  from  his  stern-prest  lips  awoke, 

Belief,  that  truth  and  honor  in  them  spoke. 

**  This  hand   was  never  raised  to  punish  sin, 

But  self-defence  and  justice  own  no  kin. 

Behold  where  prostrate  lies  my  own  dear  sire. 

Frustrate  his  naked  steel  and  fell  desire. 

He  crossed  me  in  my  first  love's  virtuous  vow: 

He  thwarted  Heaven,  and  Heaven  hath  laid  him  low! 

His  child  he  might  have  slain;  but  God  forgive 

That  evil  deed,  and  grant  he  yet  may  live!" 

Much  time,  his  life  th:y  labored  to  recall. — 

He  never  rose  from  that  disastrous  fall. 

They  left  the  blackened  corpse  upon  the  spot, 

Not  that  the  rites  of  burial  were  forgot; 

Religiously  to  mingle  clay  with  clay, 

Must  be  the  duty  of  another  day. 

Gherardo,  as  they  sought  for  shelter  near, 

Touched  on  the  strano^er's  fortune  with  a  tear, 

CD  ' 

Anxious  to  heal,  tho'  not  to  probe  the  wound, 

OF  THE    ALP?.  21 

He  only  wished  the  remedy  were  found. . 

And  heard  with  interest,  and  kind  intent, 

The  youth  was  virtuous,  and  of  high  descent. 

*'My  father's  fame  and  wealth,"  he  said,  "are  great; 

From  Frauenbrunnen  came  his  name  and  stale. 

His  early  years  he  spent  in  gay  Milan, 

To  learn  the  arts  and  sciences  of  man. 

The  lady,  whom  he  wooed  and  wedded  here, 

Was  of  a  noble  family,  and  fair. 

But  soon  consumption  preyed  upon  her  frame; 

Slowly  she  pined  till  dissolution  came; 

Then  left  me  motherless,  an  only  son, 

To  comfort  my  poor   father,  who  is  gone— 

An  orphan  girl,  that  he  in  kindness  reared, 

To  my  confiding  bosom  grew  endeared. 

Her  unprotected  and  abandoned  state. 

Was  a  strong  motive  to  secure  my  fate. 

Her  unknown  parents  were  by  robbers  slain; 

And  our  inquiries  have  been  made  in  vain. 

IMy  happiness  on  her's  was  strongly  bent; 

I  won  her  heart's  affection  and  consent. 

Then  asked   my  father's  leave  to  join  our  bliss; 

He  swore  it  never  should  exist  with  his, 

And  that  the  maiden  instantly  should  leave 

The  idle  faith,  which  Romanist's  believe. 

Now,  he  had  taught  her  to  profess  in  youth, 

The  Bible,  as  the  only  guide  of  truth; 

But  priests  and  gossips  had  possessed  her  mind, 

With  legends,  miracles  and  visions  blind. 

That  filled  her  simple  heart  with  idoFs  love, 

Condemed  and  hated  by  the  God  above. 

My  father  told  her  that  she  must  obey. 

22'  THE    HERMIT 

Renounce  my  hand,  and  leave  her  erring  wayj 
Th'  unwilling  maiden  to  her  room  confined, 
"Would  never  yield  or  change  her  stedfast  mind. 
She  soon  escaped,  and  fled  my  father's  home, 
And  in  these  mountains  is  supposed  to  roam. 
This  rumor  brought  me  hither,  to  pursue 
The  fugitive.     It  brought  my  father  too. 
He  came  with  wrath  and  madness  on  his  brow 
To  do — a  deed  that  heaven  has  hindered  now. 
Unhappy  man!  his  rage  o'erpowered  his  breast 
I  sought  the  maid  and  on  my  steps  he  press'd — 
'Tis  true,  he  led  a  melancholy  life. 
In  seeming  sorrow  for  his    cherished  wife. 
Silence  and  gloom  were  ever  wont  to  brood. 
Darkly  and  sadly  in  his  solitary  mood. 
And  never  were  his  features  known  to  smile, 
Upon  a  mother's  fondness,  or  an  infant's  v/ile. 
His  look  was  rioid  and  his  words  were  stern. 
As  if  he  loved  this  fleeting  world  to  spurn: 
Like  our  own  Calvin  or  Melancthon  given, 
To  meditate  on  holiness  and  heaven." 
^'Forbear,  my  friend,"  the  hermit  uttered  here; 
''Forbear  to  wound  an  old  man's  pious  ear. 
Who  still  believes  the  good  old  Roman  creed; 
And  rather  for  his  faith  would  nobly  bleed. 
Than  from  the  church  with   gospellers  recede. 
But  see!  my  brother  hermit's  home  is  nigh, 
With  him  this  night  in  safety  thou  may'st  lie — 
He  will  admit  thee  with  a  brother's  care, 
His  frugal  meal,  his  bed  and  blessing  share. 
To  him,  this  message  give,  and  thou  shalt  thrive: 
Keep  watch,  to  night  the  Bear  will  rob  the  hive,^^ 

OF    THE    ALPS,  23 

He  will  the  corpse  this  evening  hither  bring, 

Bathe  it  with  water  from  the  crystal  spring, 

Enfold  it  in  a  decent  winding  sheet, 

And  lay  it  on  a  bier  at  his  retreat. 

Another's  bleeding  wounds  I  still  must  weep, 

Ere  I  resign  my  wearied  limbs  to  sleep. 

To-morrow^,  at  the  break  of  early  dawn, 

Myself  will  meet  thee  on  this  mountain  lawn. 

Strange  truths  these  aged  lips  shall  then  unseal, 

And  I  mine  hidden  secret  will  reveal: 

Its  interest  deeply  will  thy  bosom  move: 

And  show  thee  tlie  sad  error  of  thy  love, 

Then  too  we  weep   thy  father's  earthly  doom, 

Consigning  all  his  frailties  to  the  tomb, 

(Banish  meanwhile  thy  sorrow's  useless  gloom.) 

Would  I  had  healed  his  spirit  as  it  flit, 

His  doom  is  come,  the  hermit  must  submit! 

For  when  mankind  shall  reckon  with  their  dust. 

The  God  of  mercy  will  be  found  all  just. 

Heaven  gives  thee  comfort  at  a  hermit's  door. 

Thy  toils  and  troubles  for  this  day  are  o'er* 

Gherardo  pointed  to  Anselmo's  grot, 

And  swiftly  hastened  from  that  well-known  spot- 

The  path  led  up  a  bold  and  wandering  brook. 

To  the  bosjm  of  a  deep  sequestered  nook. 

A  small  and  shelving  platform  hung  aloft, 

Spread  with  a  native  carpet  green  and  soft. 

Where  the  thin  trees  and  shrubs,  at  random   strev/n, 

Made  that  desolate  place  more  wild  and  lone. 

Beneath  their  slender,  but  refreshing  shade, 

Anselmo's  neat  and  pleasant  grot  was  made. 

Its  masonry  was  neither  rough  nor  rude. 

With  patient    hand    and     skilful    labor  hewed, 

24  THE    HERMIT 

From  out  that  mountain's  bright  and  tender  stone, 

All  by  the  strokes  of  one  man's  chissel  done. 

There  was  a  chapel,  hall,  and  chambers  grouped, 

With  passages  and  steps  and  windows  scooped. 

The  smooth  and  upright  rock's  projecting  side. 

The  artist,  %vith  an  even  Iront  supplied. 

In  which  the  entrances  and  casements  placed, 

By  the  drapery  of  some  vines  w^ere  graced. 

The  small  and  narrow  space  of  level  ground 

Formed  with  sweet  herbs  and  flowers  a  garden 'round, 

Where  climbing  vines,  on  po'esand  rock  work  hung, 

Their  rich  festoons  with  purple  clusters  strung — . 

And  many  a  cooling  summer  seat  w^as  there, 

For  meditation  meet,  and  holy  prayer. 

Caspar,  for  such  the  name  the  young  man  bore, 

Approached  with  confidence  Anselmo's  door. 

Anselmo  was  a  man  of  middle  life, 

Active  and  vigorous,  and  inured  to  strife, 

The  hardy  oflspring  of  a  warlike  soil: 

His  youth  and  manhood  had  been  spent  in  toil: 

His  temper  open,  generous  and  frank, 

His  dress  and  manners  suited  to  his  rank. 

W^ith  kindly  welcome  he  received  his  guest; 

And  cheerfully  complied  with  his  request. 

He  brought  the  body  from  that  fatal  spot, 

And  laid  it  in  the  chapel  at  his  grot. 

With  kind  observance  on  his  guest  attends, 

And  seemed  as  free  as  with  his  oldest  friends. 

To  him  no  tender  solace  was  unknown, 

Mingling  the  stranger"'s  sorrow  with  his  own: 

He  told  kind  tales,  his  burden  to  relieve; 

The  sprightly  moments  left  no  space  to  grieve^ 

OF    THE    ALPS.  25 

The  wounded  bosom  none  could  better  heal, 

For  none  could  gayer  seem  or  deeper  feel. 

The  comfortable  meal  he  next  prepares, 

And  with  his  gnestin  jovial  gladness  shares. 

Then  warmed  his  spirits  with  the  joys  of  wine. 

And  turned  the  stranger's  thoughts  to  things  divine. 

Discoursed,  how  cheerful,  natural  and  kind, 

Is  true  religion  to  the  candid  mind. 

How  over  stiff,  severe  and  senseless  rules, 

Harrow  np  all  the  miseries  of  fools. 

How  reason  and  religion  teach  the  same; 

That  God  is  good,  and  man  alone  to  blame. 

To  change  that  subject,  and  to  pass  the  time, 

Again  he  travelled  from  his  native  clime. 

It  was  Milan,  he  said,  that  gave  him  birth: 

The  fairest  spot  of  all  this  lovely  earth. 

And  there  too,  was  his  noble  master  born. 

His  servant  he  had  been  thro' joy  and  scorn; 

Great  were  his  riches,  dignity  and  state: 

But  greatness  is  sometimes  unfortunate. 

For  rivals  practised  on  his  spotless  name. 

Betrayed  his  confidence,  traduced  his  fame, 

Then  feign'd  a  wicked  tale  against  his  wife. 

And  hired  assassins  to  attempt  his  life. 

He  left  his  home,  that  he  might  sTiun  their  wrath 

By  travel,  but  his  foes  pursued  his  path. 

With  robbers  leagued,  and  lurked  in  wait. 

To  quench  in  blood  and  death,  their  thirstino-  hate. 

He  journey'd  with  the  partner  of  his  loves, 

Along  the  blue  Ticino's  chestnut  groves. 

There,  where  the  blooming  charms  of  hill  and  dale 

Diffuse  their  fragrance  on  the  healthful  gale: 

36  THE    HERMIT 

Where    the  ripe  honors  of  the  fruitful  plains 

Reward  the  labors  of  the  toiling  swains. 

Lago  Maggiore's  lovely  banks  they  tread, 

Whose  isles  of  beauty  on  its  crystal  bed, 

Like  heavenly  palaces  rise  light  and  fair, 

Or  images  of  bliss  erected  there. 

The  pomegranate  and  orange  scented  grove, 

Whose  cooling  freshness  whisper  tales  oflove. 

The  terraced  garden's  castellated  pride, 

Paint  their  own  richness  on  the  verdant  tide 

Afar,  the  misty  mountains  clad  in  brown, 

The  ruddy  flowers  and  heather  on  their  crown; 

And  all  around  the  lowly  hills  between, 

The  shining  towers  and  pinnacles  are  seen. 

Onward,  they  passed  where   towering  Alps  arise, 

And  swell  majestic  to  the  lofty  skies, 

Crested  with  tapering  spires  and  citadels, 

And  snow-capped  crags  and  giant  icicles. 

Where  soar  the  Eagle  and  the  Lammergeier, 

The  rock  goats  wander,  and  the  hunter's  fear, 

With  steps  unsteady  and  thro'  paths  obscure. 

O'er  steeps,  and  rocks,  o'er  snow  and  ice  unsure. 

O'er  precipices,  where  the  sight  grows  dim, 

As  the  diminished  objects  seem  to  swim. 

And  here  the  torrent's  raging  waters  roar. 

As  down  the  dark  and  dismal  clefts  they   pour. 

Beneath  proud  arches  and  high  hanging  shelves. 

That  bridge  the  chasms,  which  the  snow  flood  delves. 

Majestic  cataracts  of  waters  here. 

Impress  beholders  with  surprise  and  fear. 

There,  bright  cascades  descend  in  silver  sheets, 

One  turns  to  foam  upon  the  ledge  it  meets, 

OF    THE    ALPS.  27 

Another  falls  diverging  into  threads, 

And  there  the  variegated  rainbow  spreads, 

Or  disappearing  as  the  drops  grow  less, 

Stoops  from  on  high  to  misty  nothingness. 

But  when  they  gained  the  topmost  Alpine  height, 

There  lay  the  clouds  of  heaven  beneath  their  sight, 

Folding  their  mantles  o'er  the  midway  cliffs, 

Or  sailing  thro'  the  skies  like  fleecy  skiffs, 

And  oh!  what  glories  in  that  splendid  view, 

Arose  to  sight,  when  those  bright  clouds  withdrew! 

O'er  Italy  as  far  as  eye  could  ken. 

Extended  lay,  the  haunts  of  busy  men. 

Towns,  churches,  villages  and  cities  bright, 

Sparkling  like  diamonds  in  the  sun's  clear  light. 

The  liquid  lustre  of  the  pearly  lakes. 

Tinted  with  rosy  light  when  morning  wakes, 

The  ruby  blossomed  heath,  the  golden  corn, 

The  pale  green  of  the  meadows  newly  shorn, 

The  vineyards,  woods  and  tufted  groves  between. 

Glowing  like  emeralds  on  the  painted  scene, 

The  rills  like  silver  tracery  spread. 

Uniting  all  their  streams  in  one  bright  bed, 

''J  he  distant  Appenines  that  crown  the  view. 

Fringing  the  horizon  with  a  lovely  blue; 

Where,  nature  seemed  in  frolic  to  have  cast 

Her  rich  embroidered  mantle  as  she  past. 

In  front,  the  hardy  Switzer's  rugged  lands. 

Constructed  boldly  by  Almighty  hands. 

Where   rocks  and  precipices  piled  on  high, 

Leaping  like  giants  to  the  lofty  sky, 

In  naked  majesty  sublimely  frowned, 

Upon  the  shaggy  pines  that  girt  them  round; 

28  THE    HERMIT 

Or  bound  eternal  in  their  chains  of  snow, 
Lessened  the  little  specks  of  verdure  down  below 
Where,  many  a  village  I  ike  an  Eagle's  nest, 
Is  cradled  on  the  shelving  mountain's  breast. 
And  lower  down  sink  vales  and  narrow  glades, 
Most  times  enshrouded  deep  in  midday  shades. 
Here,  ponderous  masses,  cones  and  pyramids. 
Rear  to  the  cope  of  Heaven  their  piercing  heads. 
There,  others  in  a  huge  aud  lengthy  ridge, 
Extend  like  ruins  of  some  shattered  bridge, 
Spanning  ere  while  a  monstrous  gulph  profound, 
Now  burst  asunder  with  a  mighty  bound; 
And  here  and  there,  a  vast  enormous  block 
Is  hurl'd  disjointed  by  some  earthquake  shock. 
To  reap  the  blessings  of  so  scant  a  soil. 
The   honest  peasant  strives  with  urgent  toil, 
And  simply  happy,  little  prizes  wealth. 
Unless  it  leave  him  labor,  joy  and  health. 
Contented  with  his  creed  he  duly  tells. 
His  beads,  when  sound  the  ave-mary-bells. 

In  stern  defiance  of  the  biting  cold. 
Saint  Bernard's  monks  the  topmost  summit  hold. 
The  noble  hearted,  hospitable,  brave. 
And  cheerful  Brotherhood,  delight  to  save 
The  erring  stranger,  who  bewildered  here 
In  dreary  darkness,  pathless  snow  and  fear. 
Oft  wanders,  till  he  sleep  with  frozen  breath, 
Chained  in  the  icy  arms  of  v/intry  death. 
The  slumbering  sufferers  they  oft  revive, 
Digg'd  from  their  snowy  sepulchres  alive. 
Traced  by  the  2:enerous  mastiffs  that   they  rear, 
As  helpmates  in  their  perilous  career. 

OF    THE    ALPS.  29 

Truly  the  creatures  of  this  cherished  breed, 
Are  the  most  faithful  friends  of  man  in  need. 
Forth  with  refreshments  'round  their  necks  they  stalk, 
The  guards  and  partners  of  (heir  master's  walk. 
He  ceased,  and  to  their  chambers  both  retired, 
To  take  the  needful  rest  which  both  desired. 
But  peaceful  sleep,  that  night,  no  blessing  shed, 
On  Caspar,  or  Anselmo's  anxious  head. 
Anselmo  hears  a  panting  messenger  arrive; 
"Keep  watch!  to-night  the  bear  will  rob  the  hive," 
Were  the  few  words    that  messenger  had  brought, 
Rinaldo's  words,  with  fear  and  peril  fraught. 
Words,  which  the  cautious  Caspar  had  not  borne. 
Thinking,  perchance,  it  might  his  cause  o'erturn. 
Anselmo  first  approached  the  sleeper's  bed. 
But  found  no  Caspar  there,  the  bird  had  fled. 
He  snatched  his  Bugle,  on  the  platform  sprung: 
The  echoing  valleys  to  the  clear  notes  rung, 
Swift  at  the  sound,  from  out  the  cavern's  womb. 
Like  the  earth's  dead  awakening  from  the  tomb, 
A  host  of  bandits  started  forth  in  arms. 
One  voice  commands  them,  and  one  spirit  warms. 
Stout,  brave  and  firm  to  conquer  or  to  die,    . 
That  instant,  at  their  leader's  beck  or  cry. 
^'Comrades,"  he  cried,  "to  night  our  hands  we  bena 
Our  captain,  lives  and  fortunes  to  defend, 
The  Bernese  gospellers  are  here  again. 
Brothers  be  brave,  and  show  that  you  are  men! 
Mark!  Twas  a  signal  light — oh!  God,  that  glare! 
On,  on  my  braves:  down  with  the  tyrant  Bear!" 


arte  Jl^ermit  bt  Hje  arpb% 

A    TALE. 


Now's  the  day,  and  now's  the  hour, 

Seethe  front  of  battle  lour.  Burns. 




Alone,  beneath  the  purple  clustered  vine, 
Whose  lovely  tendrils    o'er  the  cottage  twine, 
The  tender  foliage  into  cooling  shade, 
At  set  of  sun,  reclined  the  pensive  maid; 
And  marked,  that  gloomy  tempest  o'er, 
What  tranquilizing  stillness  evening  wore. 
And  musing  as  the  feeble  light  grew  less, 
The  drooping  rose  of  that  fair  wilderness, 
She  formed  a  melancholy  reverie. 
Of  what  had  been,  and  what  she  wished  to  be. 
To  calm  and  holy  thoughts  resigned. 
She  framed  harmonious  to  her  Maker's  mind 
Firm  resolutions,  to  exert    control 
Over  the  weakness  of  her  timid  soul. 
Whatever  good  he  sends,  whatever  ill. 
Confirms  her  confidence  in  his  sweet  wilL 
Nobly  to  take  him  as  her  only  guide. 
To  be  a  mortal  or  immort     bride. 
Firm  as  the  mariner  On  sinking  deck, 
Whose  vessel  sternly  rides  the  waves  to  wreck; 
Or  patient,  as  the  lamb  beneath  the  knife, 
That  licks  the  cruel  hand  which  takes  its  life. 
When  Fra'  Gherardo  on  her  silence  broke, 
And  kindly  of  her  promised  story  spoke. 
**Excuse,  fair  maid,  my  unintended  stay, 


Tlie  call  of  duty  stopped  me  on  ray  way, 

And  checked  mine  own  benevolent  concern 

For  thee,  which  sooner  urged  a  prompt  return, 

I  long  to  learn,  and  far  more  long  to  end. 

The  poignant  sorrows  that  thy  bosom  rend. 

By  love  to  God,  benevolence  to  man, 

We  gather  all  the  merit  that  we  can. 

The  ?ieart's  attachment  and  the  lover's  vow, 

Impress  no  stain  upon  the  candid  brow." 

By  truth  and   candor  our  affections  rise; 

And  mutual  love  exalts  ns  to  the  skies. 

The  links  of  love  are  worth  and  self  respect^ 

And  mutual  pleasures  make  the  chain  connect* 

As  fruits  by  nature  nourish  us,  and  charm, 

But  when  abused  bring  surfeiting  and  harm: 

So  all  our  passions   virtue  may  rehne. 

The  heart  that's  pure  makes  earthly  love  divine. 

But  selfishness  degrades  to  brutal  lust 

The  noblest  thought  that  animates  our  dust. 

Each  human  passion  if  correctly  used 

Is  good,  and  vicious  only  when  abused. 

Our  God  is  not  the  author  of  our  ill, 

It  is  the  creature  of  perverted  wil. 

If  virtue  is,  its  contrary  must  be 

The  child  of  our  licentious  liberty. 

Thus  light  of  darkness  and  the  sun  of  shade, 

Th'  existing  cause  and  origin  is  made. 

Th'  indulgent  parent  who  is  over  fond. 

Oft  breaks  the  tender  heart  that  may  despond. 

Ill  brooks  its  temper  disappointed  ties, 

Grown  sick  of  life  it  pines,  and  dies. 

Or  if  it  chance  survive  the  thrilling  shock, 

OF   THE    ALPS.  35 

Claims  kindred  with  the  senseless  rock, 
Or  quenches  its  once  elevated  fires, 
In   the  base  sink  of  low  desires. 
Suspected  confidence  begets  mistrust/ 
And  heart  betray'd  are  ruined  by  disgust. 
Crushed  feeling  chills  the  finer  mind  to  stone 
But  tutors    vice  to  conquer  virtue's  throne. 
Least  will  the  soul   of  finest   tissue  bear, 
As  the  slenderest  lace  will  soonest  tear. 
Let  rigid  bigots  in  their  penance  blame, 
The  heart's  creation — nature's  purest  flame, 
And  change  her  lovely   smiles  to  frowns  morose; 
A  christian's  pious  thoughts  are  not  so  gross. 
'Tis  genial  love,  and  love  alone  can  bind 
The  social  union  among  human  kind. 
No  other  power,  on  earth,  can  tame  so  well 
The  fitful  passions'  fierce  and  savage  swell. 
Religion  seated  on  her  sapphire  throne, 
Avows  the  sweet  emotions  are  her  own. 
Angels  and  Seraphim  and  saints  above. 
Are  burning  witnesses  that  God  is  love." 

Here    Birtha  seated  by  the  old  man's  side, 
In  her  simplicity  these  words  replied: 
*'An  orphan  I  by  unknown  parents  left, 
Of  every  friend  but  God  and  you  bereft, 
I  passed  at  home  my  days  of  early  youth, 
In  striving  to  obey  the  church  of  truth. 
Beneath  a  friendly  Baron's  guardian  power; 
And  lived  in  peace  until  this  fatal  hour. 
When  he  desired  that  I  would  change  my  creed. 
Vain  were  my  prayers  and  tears  in  this  sad  need, 
He  vowed  the  worst  of  vengeance  on  my  head, 

36  THE    HERMIT 

If  I  persisted  to  be  thus  misled. 
The  Baron  and  his  son  avowed  their  hate 
Against  the  Pope,  and  sided  with  the  State. 
"What  could  I  for  the  Baron's  wishes  plead? 
I  loved  another,  and  I  loved  my  creed. 
I  knew  your  virtues,  and  your  goodness  well. 
And  thought  to  find  a  refuge  in  your  cell. 
But,  what  I  fear  you  never  will  approve, 
I  sent  a  letter  to  the  one  I  love. 
Intreating  that  he  instantly  repair, 
To  meet  me  here;  so  counselled  my  despair. 
On  whom  could  orphaned  innocence  depend, 
Except  her  lover  and  her  faithful  friend? 
I  fled  my  patron's  home,  and  hither  came, 
Ah!  too  regardless  of  endangered  fame! 
Pardon  the  error  of  this  breaking  heart, 
It  never  knew  the  cold  reserve  of  art. 
Preserve  my  innocence,  my  true  belief. 
You  know  how  sweet  it  is  to  grant  relief!" 

Tears  on  her  eyelids,  for  thisguitless  deed, 
Glistened  like  dew  drops  on  the  silver  weed. 
And  gently  falling  on  the  Hermit's  hand 
Resistless  pleaded  what  her  looks  demand: 
How  beautiful  is  nature's  eloquence 
That  speaks  for   virtue  to  benevolence! 
There  was  a  soothing  in  that  voice  and  tone; 
So  like  the  melody  his  ear  had  known 
Of  one,  whose  music  and   whose  love  had  given 
His  youth  a  happiness  like  bliss  from  Heaven. 
The  old  man  wept — then  paused  awhile  to  feel 
The  meek  emotions  o'er  his  senses  steal, 
And  said  "thy  simpleness  and  candor  child 

OF    THE    ALPS. 


Have  e'en  a  Hermit  of  his  tears  beguiled 

And  see!  I  weep — who  never  wept  before 

Since  that  sad  time — but  I  must  weep  no  more. 

Yes!  the  long  day  its  course  has  well  nigh  run, 

And  we  mu^t  hence,  before  to-morrow's  sun, 

The  furious  ministers  of  zeal  and  wrath, 

"Will  trample  on  this  unfrequented  path. 

These  peaceful  woods  will  hear  the  battle  din, 

The  clash  of  armour,  and  the  oath  of  sin. 

Start  not!  but  hide  this  dagger  in  thy  dress, 

And  if  thy  virtue  tremble  take  redress — 

Mercy  in  peace  a  woman's  softness  decks, 

Firmness  in  peril  elevates  the  sex! 

Should  Heaven  reward  me  with  the  crow^n  of  death, 

Oh!  consecrate  to    God  thy  latest  breath. 

Thine  innocence  his  mighty  arm  wi'l  claim, 

Oh!  thou  hast  nothing  done  to  merit  blame. 

Come  soothe  thy  bosom,  and  compose  thy  tears. 

None  but  the  guilty  conscience  ever  fears. 

Let  no  deceit  thy  firm  belief  pervert. 

Remember  maiden — God  will  not  desert 

His  own,  the  true  believer  may  not  fall, 

The  God  of  Bertha  will  protect  us  all!" 

The  good  man  paused,  to  print  the  sacred  seal 
Of  vesper  song,  upon  his  earnest  zeal, 
The  willing  maiden  joined  her  heart  and  voice. 
That  saints  in  bliss  and  angels  might  rejoice, 
^he  chapel  hollowed  from  the  living  stone, 
The  altar  where    the  lighted   tapers  shone. 
On  high  the  burning  lamp  of  silver  hung, 
The  fragrant  breaih  the  fuming  censor  flung, 
The  solemn  stillness  of  that  awful  place, 

38  THE    HERMIT 

Which  God's  sweet  majesty  had  deign'd  to  grace. 
And  the  great  book  of  truth,  invite  the  pair, 
To  mingle  their  pure  vows  in  humble  prayer. 

This  homage  paid,  they  hasten  to  recruit 
Nature's  exhausted  strength  with  bread  and  fruit. 
These  simple  foods  their  present  wants  suffice, 
And  Fra'  Cherardo  added  mild  advice: 
''Dwell  not  upon  the  past,  but  banish  fear, 
'Tis  innocence  that  makes  the  mind's  best  cheer. 
Where  'er  she  shows  the  splendor  of  her  light, 
The  dazzled  vices  vanish  from  the  sight. 
Guilt  is  a  monster  of  revolting  mien, 
That  cramps  the  courage  of  the  soul,  when  seen.'^ 

The  rose  on  Bertha's  cheek  turns  deadly  pale, 
Her  features  quiver,  and  her  glances  quail. 
The  watchful  hermit  marks  her  color  fly, 
A  fierce  intruder  met  his  vivid  eye: 
A  cold  and  'numbing  chill  of  terror  sank 
One  moment  on  the  man, — then  free  and  frank, 
He  starts  afoot — his  keen  eye  flashes  fire. 
Fierce  as  the  maddened  lion  m  his  ire — 
*'Submitthee  to  the  State,"  that  stranger  said, 
**By  order  I  arrest  thee  and  tliat  maid." 
''No,  never!"  was  Gherardo's  stern  reply, 
''Thee  and  thy  State  and  death  I  here  defy!" 
Too  well  the  errand  of  his  foe  he  guessed, 
Tho'  disappointed  hope  his  soul  oppressed. 
The  cowl  and  cassock  on  the  pavement  lie, 
The  long  concealed  weapon  gleams  on  high, 
Descends  upon  the  foe  with  burning  wound, 
And  hurls  him  prostrate  to  the  ground. 
One  vigorous  arm  grasps  on  the  maiden's  hand, 


OF   THE    ALPS.  39 

The  other  whirls  a^oft  the  shining  brand, 
'Tisvain  to  fly — for  swords  in  thick  array, 
Soon  hedge  him  in  with  death  and  bar  the  way. 
The  foemen  thro'  th.e  broken  casement  dash: 
And  twenty  sabres    round  his  temple  flash: 
In  vain — the  warrier  Hermit  stands  at  bay. 
<^'Tis  madness  to  provoke  the  desperate  fray. 
Stand  and  surrender,  yiekl  ihee  to  my  hand." 
Exclained  another  leader  of  the  band, 
*'Curse  on  the  monk,  our  noble  captain's  slain. 
But  the  false  harlot  and  the  beast  are    ta'en. 
Seize  him,  before  the  popish  wizzard  slips, 
Or  stop  the  falsehood  of  his  damned  lips. 
Go,  tear  his  leman  from  the  monk's  embrace, 
So  foul  a  thing  to  have  so  fair  a  face." 

Back  to  the  chapel  Fra'  Gherardo  trod, 
And  bore  the  maiden  to  the  arms  of  God. 
She  sank  with  a  faint  and  despairing  moan, 
A  spotless  lily  on  the  altar  stone. 
Lifted  her  eyes  and  passive  hands  on  high. 
With  imploring  look  and  im passioned  sigh. 
And  mutely  to  the  God  of  battle  prayed. 
Whose  arm  may  give  the  feeble  woman  aid. 
With  sword  in  hand,  and  face  against  the  foe, 
Undaunted,  stern  and  resolute  tho'  slow, 
Gheiardo,  at  the  Chapel-entrance  stood. 
Like  the  dying  lion  in  his  sullen  mood. 
When  ebbing  strength  decays,  and  life-blood  flows; 
He  warded  ofl'  with  skill  their  heavy  blows; 
And  the  stout  courage  of  the  foremost  broke, 
With  many  a  wound,  and    thrust,  and   well    aimed 

40  THE    HERMIT 

His  prowess,  and  the  keenness  of  his  blade, 
Two  other  victims  on  the  pavament  laid, 
Not  one  of  all  that  chosen  Bernese  band, 
Against  the  vigor  of  his  arm  could  stand: 
Tho'  all  together  at  the  passage  thrust, 
They  could  not  bear  the  hero  to  the  dust. 
The  old  man  fought,  aliho'  they  wounded  him, 
With  blood  and  dust  and  desperation  grim. 
Until  the  baffled  miscreants,  with  a  scofF, 
Stood  back  retired,  and  drew  their  comrades  off. 
*'Yield  thee,"  they  shouted,  ere  we  make  thy  cell 
Hotter  than  all  the  burning  pools  of  hell," 
Alas!  why  breaks  that  blaze  of  ruddy  light! 

'Tis  not  the  friendly  moon  that  beams  so  bright! 
No!  'tis  the  cottage  roof  that  caught  the  blaze. 
And  spreads  to  the  skies  that  luminous  haze. 
The  flames  glare  upward  in  a  fiery  flood, 
And  the  dark  pine  wood.^  are  red  like  blood. 
Now  far  and  wide,  the  thatch  in  sparkles  cast. 
Is  scattered  by  the  burning  and  the  blast. 
And  smoke  and  damp  and  smouldering  heat. 
The  prisoners  bathe  in  suffocating  sweat. 
And  ashes, sparks  and  blazing  fragments  fell, 
Upon  the  altar  in  the  inner  cell. 
Without  the  armed  soldiers  thronofed  the  door, 
And  hopes  last  farewell  ray  now  gleamed  no  more, 
Upon  the  victims  of  that  burning  tomb. 
Buried  with  horror,  bloodshed,  death  and  gloom. 
How  strangely  human  pulses  throb  and  ebb. 
When  the  fates  sever  the  quivering  web! 
If  sudden  hope  hurries  the  gurgling  blood. 
Or  cold  qualms  clog  the  flow  of  the  slow  blood. 

OF  THE    ALPS.  41 

Thus  Bertha  on  the  waves  of  life  and  death, 

Trembled  and  floated  like  the  bugle's  breath, 

Which  pealing"  on  the  ear  with  thrilling  sound, 

Startled  the  hills  and  made  their  echoes  bound; 

But  whether  that  bugle  told  joy  or  woe, 

Save  the  silent  Gherardo,  none  could  know% 

*' Bertha,''  he  cried,  *'oh  hear  those  joyous  notes, 

Their   sound  on   my  soul  like  jubilee  floats. 

Cheer,  thee  my  child,  for  the  God  of  the  brave, 

Arms  us  with  courage  to   conquer  and   save." 

And  though  he  suffer  the  just  man  to  bleed, 

He  succors  his  servant  in  time  of  need. 

Humbly  confide,  and  kiss  his  holy  will. 

The  God  of  Bertha  will  protect  us  still." 

A  sullen  tramp  like  that  of  armed  men. 

Still  growing  clearer  up  the  hollow  glen. 

And  mingUng  often  with  the  ringing  sound, 

Of  arms  and  armor  on  the  rocky  ground. 

As  the  quick  footsteps  of  the  wearers  neared, 

In  silence  fearfully,  was  clearly  heard. 

Then  burst  the  clamor  of  the  fierce  attack, 

The  ring  of  helmets,  and  the  sabre's  hack. 

The  meeting  of  the  swords,  with  jar  and  clash, 

The  falling  of  the  slain,  their  armor's    crash, 

The  sounds  of  death,  where  groans  and  curses  meet, 

The  bloody  splash,  the  trampling  of  the  feet,  ^ 

The  panting  stuggle  and  the  din  and  shout,  ^ 

And  dreadful  riot  of  the  battle  rout. 

Gherardo,  while  the  combat  rages  high. 
Now  hears  a  sullen  and  a  desperate  cry, 
*'  In — In — and  take  the  monk  and  girl  away, 
The  Bandits  shall  not  rob  us  of  our  prey." 

42  THE    HERMIT 

Full  twenty  Bernese  to  the  doorway  fly, 
Resolved  to  seize  Gherardo  or  to  die. 
The  old  man  sternly  wields  his  weapon  still, 
Tho'  tired  nature  could  support  him  ill. 
'Tis  but  one  moment,  and  one  struggle  more, 
The  rescue  and  defence  are  at  the  door. 
The  fallen  captain,  while  the  combat  glows. 
Recovers  from  apparent  death's  repose, 
Drags  his  slow  body  where  Gherardo  stands. 
Gets  on  one  knee  and  grasps  with  both  his  hands 
The  fatal  dagger,  and  it  glitters  hijjh, 
In  act  to  strike — It  caught  the  maiden's  eye. 
Instant  she  rushed  witli  naked  dagger  too, 
To  foil  the  blow — AVhat  features  met  her  view- 
Down  fell  the  dagger  from  her  fingers  dropt, 
As  if  the  hand  that  held  it  had  been  lopt 
By  keenest  blade — she  shrieked  out  "Friedenfeld." 
And  her  own  Lover  to  her  bosom  held. 
Gherardo  heard  the  keen  and  thrilling  cry, 
Mingled  with  the  glad  sliout  of  victory; 
And  spent  with  wounds  'mid  friends  andfoemen  fell, 
Victor  or  vanquished,  he  could  little  tell. 

A    TALE. 


I  do  believe 
The  oriorin  and  commencement  of  his  orrief 
Sprung  from  neglected  love. 

Shaks.  Hamlet  in,  2 




PART    IV. 

eneath  the  silver  moonbeam's  silent  eye, 
That  view'd  with  peerless  light  the  tranquil  sky, 
he  mellow  landscape  and  the  morning  ray, 
herardo,  Friedenfeld  and  Bertha  lay, 
reathing  the  freshness  of  the  dewy  air. 
Where  the  green  sward  had  spread  its  silken  hair, 
And  the  pine  tree  waved  its  sighing  head, 
In  lamentation  o'er  the  newly  dead. 
Not  far,  the  wreathing  smoke  and  glowing  spark, 
The  smouldering  ruins  of  the  cottage  mark. 
Anselmo  and  the  bandits  gathered  'round. 
To  close  the  eye  or  heal  the  bleeding  wound. 
Where,  the  pale  victims  of  that  night's  emprize, 
Looked  languidly  for  comfort  to  the  skies. 
Beautiful  and  still  as  the  ocean's  face. 
Where  tempests  gone,  imprint  that  soothing  grace 
Which  settled  skies  o'er  troubled  waters  make, 
As  wearied  waves  in  dying  ripples  break, 
Lulling  the  torture  of  the  agoniz'ddeep. 
To  sullen  calmness  and  motionless  sleep: 
Such  grief  and  joy,  fierce  wrath  and  love  between. 
The  aspect  of  that  passion  quelling  scene. 
Bertha,  whose  kind  and  hope-inspiring  look. 
All  sense  of  anguish  from  her  lover  took. 
The  sympathies  of  joy,  and  glad  surprise, 
Beaming  with  love  and  pity  in  her  eyes, 

46  THE    HERMIT 

Was  seated  by  his  side,  and  held  his  head 

Reclining  on  her  tender  bosom's  bed. 

And  not  unlike,  as  o'er  her  frame  she  lean't, 

A  weeping  willow  o'er  a  fallen  oak  bent; 

**Why  did  I  send,"  she  said,  "that  rash  request? 

The  fault  was  mine,  on  me  the  guilt  must  rest. 

Oh'  had  I  never  fled  my  patron's  home, 

Then  none  of  all  these  miseries  had  come! 

Ah  me!  'tis  I  alone  that  am  to  blame, 

These  wounds  and  woes,  upbraid  me  with  their  sham* 

Oh  speak,  oh!  Friedenfeld,  to  Bertha  speakj 

Or  are  thy  dying  breath  and  lips  too  weak?'* 

"Is  that  her  voice,  is  that  my  Bertha  near, 

Or  angel  whispering  comfort  to  mine  ear?" 

At  length  the  wounded  Friedenfeld   replied: 

What  makes  you  here,  or  why  was  I  denied 

The  secret  of  your  ill  concealed  flight? 

Am  I  unworthy  to  behold  your  sight?" 

"Forgive  me,  Friedenfeld;"  rejoined  the  maid, 

"Love  for  your  sake  alone  my  bosom  sway'd: 

I  fled  my  home,  lest  Caspar  should  succeed, 

Or  rob  me  of  my  liberty  and  creed. 

The  token  that  I  sent,  was  not  received; 

Arnold,  perhaps,  my  confldence  deceived:—- 

Could  he  be  guilty  of  so  base  a  thing? 

He  had  my  letter  and  my  signet  ring: 

The  letter's  purport,  and  my  wishes  were, 

'I'hat  you  should  hasten  to  protect  me  here. 

You  cannot  harbor  thoughts  unkind,  oh!  livcj 

Thy  wretched  Bertha  and  her  love  forgive! 

Alas!  the  good  old  man  is  gone,  I  fear, 

His  limbs  extended  on  the  earth's  cold  bier^ 

OF    THE    ALPS.  47 

The  pallid  hue  upon  his  blood  stained  cheek, 
Are  other  reasons  why  this  heart  should  break, 
Oh  speak  him  kindly,  Friedenfeld,  and  feel 
How  sweet  it  is  discordant  hearts  to  heal. 
No  purer  breath  in  nobler  bosom  heaves, 
None  more  benevolent  for  brother  grieves,  - 
No  better  friend  has  Bertha  ever  known, 
No  other  Father  can  she  call  her  own. — 
How  fares  my  Father,  past  this  dreadful  strife, 
Does  Heaven  still  bless  us  and  preserve  his  life, 
Or  does  eternal  justice  so  dispose. 
That  Fra'  Gherardo's  glory  crown  his  woes? 
Oh  grant  thy  helpless  child  her  simple  prayer, 
Rob  not  the  orphan  of  an  old  man's  care." 
*'  Come  hither,  child,  and  bring  thy  Friedenfeld, 
Much  would  I  say  that  has  been  long  withheld: 
But  leaden  clouds  my  fading  senses  press. 
To  steep  in  this  cold  world's  forgetfulness, 
When  all  my  earthly  d«^bls  are  duly  paid, 
My  spirit  w4ll  repose  in  death's  kind  shade. 
Bertha,  a  draught  to  cool  my  parch'dlips  bring, 
A  Father's  last  request,  from  yonder  spring, 
I  feel  my  stream  of  life  is  ebbing  fast, — 
Tell  me,  Anselmo,  how  the  combat  past; 
Are  any  of  our  friends  or  brave  men  slain, 
Does  any  Bernese  in  thy  power  remain?'^ 
Anselmo,  leaning  on  his  trusty  blade, 
This  prompt  reply,  in  gentle  accents  made. 
*'Rinaldo,  and  his  brave  men  stand  around. 
All  here,  and  safe  except  some  trifling  wound. 
Stoutly  they  met  the  battle's  fiery  brunt. 
They  fought  and  conquered  as  thev  bravely  wont. 

^^  THE    HERMIT 

And  have,  what  noble  hearts  could  do,  repaid 
The  horrid  outrage  of  De  Biutgeld's  blade. 
The  Bernese  band  of  veterans,  bold  and  rough, 
Obeyed  a  Hauptman  of  the  sternest  stuff. 
Slain  by  your  hand,  his  breathless  carcase  lies, 
His  fierceness  living  in  his  savage  eyes: 
Six  others  met  their  death  in  fatal  fight; 
One  coward  slave  is  prisoner  to  night. 
And  Caspar,  whom  we  righty  jadged  a  spy, 
Is  yonder,  struggling  in  his  agony," 
Bertha,  no  sooner  heard  the  traitor's  fate. 
Than  pity  moved  her  to  forgive  his  hate. 
His  counterfeited  love,  and  base  deceit. 
To  staunch  his  blood,  to  dry  his  guilty  tears, 
And  soothe  his  pangs — the  lovely  girl  appears. 

They  brought  him  gently,  where  Gherardo  lay, 
TO  shrive  his  spirit  ere  it  left  its  clay. 
The  noble  Hermit,  and  the  pleading  maid, 
goftness  and  age,  their  eloquence  assay'd 
TO  reconcile  his  spirit  with  his  God— • 
The  Gospeller,  was  listless  as  the  clod — 
Yet  Bertha^s  tears  and  tenderness  unbent 
Somewhat,  the  firmness  of  his  stern  intent, 
And  melted  by  her  mute  and  feeling  prayer. 
He  wept,  obdurate  man!  and  felt  despair, — 
How  could  he  wrong  that  kind  and  gentle  maid! 
A  guilty  horror  on  his  conscience  weighed, 
Then  casting  a  bewildered  look  around. 
He  saw  th'  accomplice  of  his  treachery  bound, 
And  heard  hhn,  to  Gherardo  thus  declare, 
"My  name  is  Arnold,   father,  and  I  share 
The  trust  of  Bertha  and  my  Baron's  heir. 

OF   THE    ALPS. 

'Tis  true  I  acted  with  a  traitor's  art, 

But  secret  perils  I  can  still  impart. 

Oh!  spare  my  forfeit  life  and  I  will  tell 

What  much  concerns  the  inmates  of  this  dell." 

*'Speak,''  said  Ansel  mo;  "what  is  true,  one  lie 

Will  sign  the  fatal  warrant  and  you  die. 

The  wretched  Caspar,  to  his  supple  knave, 

One  withering  look,  one  frown  of  menace  gave, 

But  still  the  pa'e  and  horror  stricken  slave. 

Without  repugnance   all  his  gui  t  confest, 

And  bared  the  secrets  of  his  master's  breast. 

"Caspar,"  he  said,  "designing  to  betray 

The  maid,  whose  flight  had  rob'd  him  of  his  prey, 

Bad  me  a  counterfeited  priest  provide, 

That  a  false  marriage  might  deceive  the  bride. 

I  sought  him  out  a  poor  and  needy  Friac; 

A  purse  of  gold  secured  the  monk  for  hire. 

The  Baron's  wrath,  confined  within  her  room 

The  maid,  who  dream'd  not  of  so  sad  a  doom, 

And  a  false  contract,  falsely  signed  and  sealed, 

Was  quickly  forged,  to  make  the  maiden  yield. 

This  night  to  execute  the  deed  was  named," — 

By  heav'n  'tis  false;"  here  Caspar  fierce  exclaimed, 

"Silence!"  Anselmo  cried,  "silence!  at  least, 

'Till  I  confront  thee    with  that  needy  Priest." 

He  rose  and  v/aved  a  signal  w^th  his  hand, 

Rinaldo,  captain  of  the  robbers'  band. 

Advanced  and  look'd  on  Caspar  with  a  scowl. 

"Know  you  these  features,  Caspar,  and  this  cowl, 

Take  back  the  price  of  innocence,  your  purse 

Such  v^^ages  were  an  honest  soldier's  curse. 
Peruse  the  wicked  contract,  which  I  bring, 



50  THE    HERMIT 

Or  if  you  challenge  these,  behold  the  ring! 

Deny  it  now — and  at  Gherardo's  word, 

Thy  traitor  heart  shall  shrive  it  to  my  sword." 

He  drew —  and  that  deceiver's  members  quailed, 

Like  an  aspen's  leaves  by  the  wind  assailed. 

But  Bertha's  gentle  ill-requited  tears, 

In  pity  dropped,  relieved  him  from  his  fears. 

Arnold  resumed  the  horrid  tale  with  zeal; 

A  brother's  woes  such  traitors  never  feel, 

**Bertha,  to  Friedenfeld,  with  special  care. 

Bid  me  this  jewel  and  a  letter  bear. 

I  bore  them  not;  and  when  the  maid  escaped, 

Our  projects  by  its  short  contents  we  shaped. 

The  letter  first  we  altered  to  our  mind, 

Then   to  the  council  of  the  state  consigned. 

From  this,  they  thought  Gherardo  had  command, 

And  ruled  the  movements  of  the  robber-band; 

That  Bertha,  from  the  Baron's  home  allured, 

Was  carried  off  and  in  their  cave  immured; 

And  that  the  monks  and  robbers  dared  to  slight 

The  new-born  lustre  of  the  Gospel  light. 

This  fraud,  the  council  to  our  purpose  won, 

Orders  were  issued  to  the  Baron's  son, 

To  seize  Gherardo  and  arrest  the  maid: 

The  council  furnished  men  and  arms  to  aid, 

Their  Hauptmans  Steinhertz,  Holtz,  and  Friedenfeld. 

This  combat  all  our  hopes  in  death  has  quelled." 

*'Yes,"  said  Rinaldo,  ''and  the  Baron's  death!— 

<'Say  on!''  the  startled  Caspar  gasped  for  breath, 

With  a  grim,  convulsive,  horrid  look — 

Just  as  the  conscience  stricken  soul  forsook 

The  guilty  Parricide  it  could  not  brook-— 

OF   THE    ALPS.  51 

Aiacl  left  upon  that  corpse  the  foul  impress 
Of  all  its  guilt  and  sin  and  ghastliness. 
So  horrible  the  shock,  and  awful  spell, 
That  breaks  to  sinner  and  to  infidel, 
The  vision  and  eternity  of  Hell! 
There  Arnold  stood,  astonished  and  amazed, 
His  pale  lips  quivering  and  his  eye-balls  glazed- 
Down  on  his  heart,  that  bolt  of  terrors  came, 
And  he  crouched  to  the  very  earth  with  shame, 
Rinaldo,  Bertha  and  her  Friedenfeld, 
Drearly  the  gloominess  of  death  beheld. 
Revolted  feelings  make  the  heart  turn  sick, 
When  accusations  come  so  foul  and  thick. 
Gherardo  with  a  calm  and  even  mien. 
Alone  remained  untroubled  and  serene; 
As  eagles  oft  their  balanced  wings  extend, 
Above  the  clouds,  which  stormy  tempests  rend. 
This  truth  indeed  the  traitor  Arnold  told: 
How  Caspar  grown  by  desperation  bold, 
Because  the  Baron  never  could  be  won. 
To  sanction  Bertha's  union  wih  his  son; 
Resolved  another  dreadful  deed  to  do. 
And  fix  that  crime  upon  the  robbers  too. 
But  the  dread  secret  to    Rinaldo  known, 
The  traitor  had  not  courage  to  disown. 

And  now,  ihe  morning's  saffron  light  arose 
On  the  last  Franenbrunnen's  sad  repose: 
When  thus  the  brave  Rinaldo  spoke  again. 
And  writhed  the  supple  traitor's  heart  with  pain, 
'*  Arnold,  this  contract  and  this  ring  restore 
To  Bertha — Go,  and  never  meet  us  more. 
A  brave  man  would  not  slay  a  coward  loon 

7^-*s7-f  ^^  ^ 

52  THE    HERMIT 

And  death  for  thee,  would  be  too  great  a  boon.'* 

Away  the  pliant  wretch  with  terror  fled, 

As  if  dread  venofeance  menaced  o'er  his  head. 

And  as  the  band  around  their  leader  prest, 

These  thrillinof  words  described  his  thouo^htful  breast: 

"Comrades,  farewell!  vour  ohieftan's  course  is  done! 

His  reign  is  ended  with  the  set  of  sun. 

lam  the  scion  of  a  noble  race, 

Tho'  honor  bars  me  from  my  rightful  place. 

JVor  lust  of  wealth,  nor  love  of  battle  led, 

Rinaldo  to  vour  band  but  want  of  bread. 

I  scorned  the  labor  of  the  subject  poor. 

Gibes  and  gaunt  famine  at  their  broken  door; 

I  could  not  brook    oppression's  grinding  deeds, 

Where  the  Prince  plunders  and  the  vassal  bleeds. 

To  you  I  gave  my  heart,  my  hand,  and  blade. 

Your  chosen  Captain  in  the  free  knight's  trade.  I 

My  sword  and  liberty  is  all  I  crave,  : 

Of  the  rich  treasures,  which  our  fortune  gave. 

Nor  had  I  in  your  service  staid  so  long, 

But  to  avenge  the  good  Gherardo's  wrong. 

De  Blutgeldt's  deed  my  manly  bosom  stung, 

And  spurn'd  by  vengeance,  on  his  foes  I  hung: 

Both  now  have  heard  death's  iron  tongue. 

He  shrouds  the  good  and  bad  beneath  his  pall; 

But  dreadful  horrors  on  the  guilty  fall. 

Comrades,  remember  tho'  you  fight  for  food, 

Rob  not  the  poor:  shed  not  one  drop  of  blood. 

Thankg  for  your  love — along  and  last  farewell! — 

Brothers, — to  your  cavern  in  the  secret  dell! 

I  fear,  the  good  old  Hermit's  hour  is  come; 

Bear  to  Anseimo's^  or  a  better  home.^' 


Slowly  and  sadly  that   procession  moved, 
Gherardo,  Friedenfeld  and  her  he  loved. 
They  bore  the  Hermit  on  their  joined  arms, 
Bertha,  then  followed  with  neglected  charms. 
And  Friedenfeld  supported  on  his  feet. 
Until  they  reached  Anselmo's  nigh  retreat. 
Rinaldo,  and  his  band  retire  to  hide, 
Within  the  caverns  of  the  monntaia's  side. 
Gherardo  on  a  rustic  couch  reclined, 
With  resignation  cheered  the  maiden's  mind. 
And  Friedenfeld  by  generous  motives  fired, 
The  Hermit's  comfort  and  relief  desired. 
"Father,"  he  said,  ''your  kindness  I  revere, 
Accept  a  soldier's  thanks  and  tears  sincere. 
You  saved  my  Bertha  and  her  virtue  too: 
I  owe  my  life  and  liberty  to  you. 
And  if  my  hand  or  heart  can  make  amends. 
Your  vassal  Friedenfeld  your  will  attends. 
Forgive  me,  if  I  sought  your  aged  life. 
My  country  and  my  duty  armed  the  strife. 
I  knew  not  what  my  Bertha  ov/ed  to  you, 
I  knew  not  that  her  love  for  me  was  true. 
I  knew  not  of  the  greatness  of  your  soul. 
Defeat  and  shame  usurped  my  mind's  control." 
•'Enough!  enough,"  the  Hermit  kindly  cried 
Say  wilt  thou  take  this  maiden  for  thy  bride? 
This  is  the  homage  which  Gherardo  claims. 
This  is  the  crown  ai  which  the  conqueror  aims! 
Bertha,  my  child,  I  know  your  heart's  accord, 
Friedenfeld  shall  be  thy  love's  dear  lord. 
The  counterfeited  Friar's  contract  read, 
The  names  will  show  correctness  in  the  deed. 



Bertha  and  Friedenfeld  are  parties  signed, 
And  here  by  real  Priest  in  marriage  joined. 
Grateful  to  God  before  his  altar  bow, 
And  breathe  with  pious  lips  the  sacred  vow. 
Here,  my  dear  child,  the  signet  jewel  bring, 
Long  mayst  thou  live  to  wear  the  wedding  ring! 
To  your  chaste  loves  be  every  blessing  given. 
By  man  on  earth,  by  saints  and  God  in  Heaven! 

**  My  children,  to  Ansel mo's  lips  attend, 
My  weakness  tel's  me  I  am  near  my  end. 
The  webb  of  Bertha's  life  he  will  unfold; 
Before  I  die  that  secret  must  be  told. 
That  God's  benevolence  and  justice  known, 
Proud  man  may  worship  at  his  Maker's  throne. 
With  oft  a  sad  and  oft  a  smiling  tear. 
Listened  the  loving  and  attentive  pair. 
While  gently  spoke  the  much  afflicted  man, 
And  with  these  faithful  words  his  tale  began: 
**  Beholi  the  first  born  of  a  noble  line, 
Whose  wreath  of  glory,  worth  and  honor  twine. 
His  boyhood  and  his  manly  youth  I  knew. 
Now  age  has  dashed  his  locks  with  wisdom's  hue. 
If  I  his  virtue  and  nobility  assert, 
I  do  but  justice  to  his  true  desert. 
Far  other  thoughts  his  brother's  mind  imbued; 
Their  studies  in  Milan  the  youths  pursued. 
Gerald  the  one,  the  other  Caspar  named. 
This  for  his  loves,    and    that  for  learning  famed. 
Among  the  ladies  of  the  Duke's  gay  train. 
Aim ira's  grace  and  beauty  seemed  to  reign. 
To  her  were  coundess  lover's  vows  addressed; 
Her  wit  and  charms  each  cavalier  confest. 

OF   THE    ALPS.  55 

Both  Brothers  to  this  green  of  beauty  bowed, 

Each  paid  his  suit  and  each  his  homage  vov/ed. 

Now  Gerald's  merit  caught  the  lady's  eyes, 

He  won  from  dazzled  rivals  beauty's  prize. 

But  merit  cannot  vanquish  envious  hearts, 

Nor  goodness  shun  ^ow  cunning's  wily  arts. 

His  rival  slandered  him  with  envy's  breath, 

And  secretly  determined  on  his  death. 

Gerald,  most  anxious  to  defeat  their  crime, 

Left  the  gay  city  for  his  own  dear  clime; 

For  often,  borne  on  Fancy's  winged  car. 

His  thoughts  would  wander  to  his  home  afar: 

And  long  those  verdant  hills  and  vales  to  meet. 

Where  the  huge  alps  extend  their  northward  feet. 

His  wife  and  daughter  journey'd  by  his  side. 

And  I,  Anselmo,  was  their  chosen  guide. 

His  rivals  bargained  with  De  Blutgeldts'  band, 

To  bar  his  passage  to  the  Switzer's  land. 

Where  the  steep  Gemni's  battlemented  wall. 

Threatens  the  Leuker  valley  with  its  fall, 

Where  streaming  waters  from  their  copious   source 

In  healing  streams  gush  forth  with  boiling  force, 

A  path  meandering  like  the  serpent's  trail, 

Leads  up  the  precipice  which  hunters  fear  to  scale. 

So  narrow  is  the  part  that  two  abreast, 

Scarce,  can  ascend  the  steepy  mountains  crest. 

Here,  in  the  bosom  of  a  hollow  nook, 

Their  stand  the  hireling  bandit's  took. 

With  savage  hearts  and  arms  for  fight, 

Some,  intercept  the  passage  of  the  height. 

Others,  concealed  cut  off  the  rearward  flight. 

Like  birds,  decoy'd  within  the  fowler's's  snare, 

56  THE    HERMIT 

The  thoughtless  victimsof  revenge  came  there. 

The  signal  whistle  sounded  shrill  and  keen, 

The  Bandits  issued  from  the  rocks  between, 

Drew  on  their  prey  the  murdering  sword, 

The  Lady  captured  by  the  ruth' ess  horde, 

AVas  instant  butchered  by  De  Blutgeldt's  hands; 

Regardless  of  humanity's  commands, 

The  reckless  savaofe  frowning  on  his  bands, 

And  neither  of  his  God,  nor  he'l  afraid, 

Stain'd  with  a  woman's  b'ood  his  shameful  blade: 

Then  griped  the  infant  in  his  bloody  arms, 

Grinn'd  at  the  mothers  pangs  and  child's  alarms, 

Dash'd  the  sweet  babe  upon  the  flinty  rock. 

And  met  the   father  with  a  dreadful  shock. 

Their  clashing  swords  like  lightning  flashed  and  gleam- 

Deep  crimsoned  with  the  spoutinir  blood  thatstreani'd. 
From  gaping  wounds:  Alas!  De  Butgeldt  broke 
The  father's  weapon,  with  a  sturdy  stroke. 
Gerald  to  desperation  driv'n  at  length 
Grappled  his  foe,  and  struggled  in  his  strength, 
Headlong  to  hurl  him  froui  his  vantage  ground 
Sheer  down  the  precipice  with  mighty  bound. 
Beneath,  into  that  fathomless  abyss, 
"Where  tortured  torrents  rage  and  boil  and  hiss. 
From  cliff  to  cliff  the  rolling  ruin  falls, 
And  streaks  with  its  red  streams  the  mountain  walls. 
The  bruised  liuibs,  from  rock  to  rock  are  dashed; 
The  fractured  bones  like  brittle  reeds  are  crashed 
The  bleeding  fragments  of  tlie  mangled  joints. 
Hang  dripping  and  quivering  on  the  craggy  points. 
Loud,  when  the  ghastly  corpse  the  bottom  reach'd, 


OF   THE    ALPS.  57 

The  startled  and  amazed  Eagle  screech'd. 

And  the  vulture  of  the  Alps  filled  the  sky 

With  a  funeral  and  lugubrious  cry! 

Each  living  man  was  struck  with  deep  appal, 

At  the  sullen  sound  of  that  chilling  fall, 

Madness  and  grief  the  wretched  father  urge, 

To  leap  in  desperation  from  the  verge 

Of  that  deep  precipice,  and  dying  close 

The  fearful  current  of  his  soul's  sad  woes. 

But   vengeance  on  his  burning  senses  flash'd, 

And  headlong  on  his  armed  foes  he  dash'd. 

'Twas  but  a  thought — -a  robber's  blade  to  wrest, 

And  plunge  it  in  the  owner's  hostile  breast. — 

The  blood  poured  down  the  slippery  path— 

A  soothing  tribute  to  th'avenger's  wrath. 

Who  fought  like  hunted  panther  when  at  bay. 

And  many  a  mangled  corpse  around  him  lay. 

Fiercely  resolved  to  spend  his  latest  breath 

In  reaping  vengeance  (or  the  coming  death. 

But  what  could  one  man  in  unequal  fight. 

Against  a  hundred  robbers' banded  mighjj— 

They  triumphed— but  their  brutal  leader  dead. 

They  stripped  their  victims  and  dispersing  fled. 

Kinaldo,  chosen  by  the  robber's  chief, 

To  those  who  breathed  administerd  relief, 

And  reconciled  to  life  by  his  good  care, 

Gherardo  and  myself  are  hermits  here. 

No  wish  revengeful,  no  repining  word. 

From  Fra'  Gherardo's  lips  was  ever  heard." 

What  Bride  and  Bridegroom  heard  with  interest  deep^ 

Gherardo  minded  like  a  child  asleep. 

But  when  fair  Bertha's  fingers,  cold  as  snow, 

58  THE    HERMIT 

Were  gently  laid  upon  his  sultry  brow, 
He  faintly  said,  ''what  sad  endearments  cling, 
Beloved  Bertha,  to  that  wedding  ring. 
Remember  that  the  jewel  once  was  mine— - 
It  was  thy  mother's — and  it  now  is  thine— 
Rinaldo  bound  it  on  thine  infant  hand. 
It  proves  thy  title  to  the  Baron's  land. 
The  Baron  and  his  son  may  God  forgive. 
And  long  and  happy  may  my  Bertha  live! 
I  have  a  message  for  thy  husband  s  ear, 
Which  others,  my  dear  Bertha,  need  not  hear. 
Good  Friedenfeld  I  trust  to  thee  alone. 
What  for  thy  Bertha's  sake  were  best  unknown. 
The  day  I  took  Almira  for  my  wife, 
Was  the  most  terrible  of  all  my^life. 
A  letter  on  my  wedding  pillow  placed, 
Told  me  Almira  was  a  thing  disgraced. 
She  of  whose  love  I  deemed  myself  so  sure— - 
Affection's  crystal  mirror  chaste  and  pure, 
Sweeter  than  the  sweet  lily  of  the  shade. 
Purer  than  the  pure  dew  drop  on  the  blade- 
She  who  was  the  brightness  of  the  sun's  beam, 
The  simple  candor  of  the  limpid  stream, 
I  thought  her  heart  was  chastity's  own  cell, 
It  was  a  thing  as  false  and  foul  as  hell! — 
'Twas  then  in  bitternnss  of  heart  I    swore 
Never,  oh  never,  to  love  woman  more! 
The  fiend  that  on  my  beauteous  lily  trod. 
Fell  blasted  by  the  lightning  of  his  God — " 
He  sighed — The  Hermit  of  the  Alps  expired; 
And  Bertha  with  her  Friedenfield  retired. 




AN   ODE. 

To  day  remember  well, 
To  day  oppression  fell, 
To  day  our  breasts  shall  swell, 

With  glory  to  be  free! 
Our  bamiers  we  unfurl'd. 
And  down  to  ruin  hurPd 
The  conquerors  of  the  world, 

The  tyrants  of  the  sea. 

Great  Freedom's  voice  is  true, 
The  despots  are  the  few, 
They  never  shall  subdue 

The  many  and  the  free. 
Extortion's  cruel  gains. 
Ambition's  bloody  reins. 
And  slav'ry's  iron  chains 

Now  trembled  at  our  glee. 

Perish  their  battle  deeds, 
Perish  their  mitred  creeds, 
Perish  their  golden  meeds. 

The  traitors  to  the  free! 
Freedom  is  our  peaceful  strain, 
Commerce  our  cherished  gain, 
Our  plenty — crested  plain. 

Smiles  glad  in  liberty. 

We  need  no  subject's  wail, 


We  need  no  coats  of  mail, 
We  need  no  armed  sail, 

We  will  the  world  be  free! 
How  vast  is  freedom's  home, 
Her  mountain  spirits  roam 
Beneath  th'  unshackled  doom 

Of  nature's  Deity. 

What  happiness  we  bring 
To  freedom's  holy  spring, 
What  sweet  endearments  cling 

To  bosoms  that  are  free! 
Calm  be  the  resting  place 
Of  our  self  devoted  race. 
Who  rushed  to  death's  embrace, 

And  died  for  liberty! 

Oh  Freedom's  dear  and  sweet, 
When  friends  in  friendship  meet, 
And  loved  and  loving  greet, 

The  young  hearts  of  the  free! 
May  Freedom  warm  our  mirth, 
May  Freedom  bless  our  birth, 
May  Freedom  shine  on  earth, 

The  Freedom  of  the  free! 
New  York,  July  4,  1832. 

POEMS.  63 


AN   ODE. 

The  people  of  the  sea, 

While  mortals  sleep, 

Their  vigils  keep. 

Far  o'er  the  deep, 
In  dread  security. 
The  people  of  the  sea, 

With  pr  yiid  disdain. 

Their  right  maintain, 

To  roam  the  main, 
And  fear  no  rivalry. 

Free  as  the  boundless  sea. 


The  riders  of  the  sea, 

Where  waters  gush, 

Where  whirlwinds  rush, 

Where  icebergs  crush, 
Go  with  audacity. 
The  riders  of  the  sea, 

Tho'  reef  rocks  graze, 

Tho'  lightning  blaze, 

Tho'  thunder  craze, 
Ride  on  in  majesty; 

Bold  as  the  daring  sea. 


The  heroes  of  the  sea, 


When  foes  advance, 
With  pike  and  lance, 
And  pennons  dance, 

To  rouse  their  bravery. 

The  heroes  of  the  sea, 

Tho'  weapons  clash, 
Tho'  cannon  flash, 
Tho'  vessels  crash, 

Sail  on  to  victory, 

Restless  as  the  sea. 


The  lovers  of  the  sea. 

From  welcome  fleet, 
With  hasty  feet, 
Their  loves  to  greet, 

Descend  with  merry  glee. 

The  lovers  of  the  sea, 

When  soft  tears  spring. 
When  dear  ones  cling. 
When  joy  shouts  ring. 

Exult  in  revelry, 

Gay  as  the  sun  bright  sea. 

The  rulers  of  the  sea, 

Tho'  traitors  rise. 

And  plots  devise, 

To  mutenize. 
For  wicked  piracy. 
'1  he  rulers  of  the  sea. 

In  heart  are  stern, 

POEMS-  65 

In  hand  are  firm; 
In  honor  burn, 
To  truth  and  chivalry, 

True  as  the  deep  blue  sea. 

VI.  ^ 

The  victors  of  the  sea,  I : 

When  home  returned,  T 

From  perils  spurned. 

And  glory  earned,  ? 

In  splendid  pageantry. 
The  victors  of  the  sea. 

Embrace  the  sod,  ^ 

Where  first  they  trod,  |4 

And  rest  with  God, 
In  calm  eternity, 

Calm  as  the  breezeless  sea. 


AN   ODE. 

The  poor  child's  a  sapless  rose, 

111  rooted  on  this  drear  earth. 
Whose  young  buds  must  ever  close, 

Withered  in  their  dear  birth. 
Whose  green  leavs   may  never  spread 

Their  freshness  to  the  blue  sky: 
Whose  rich  stem's  sweet  blooming  head. 

May  never  in  the  dew  sigh. 


Or  like  some  desert  plant  of  death, 

To  the  rocks  that  shackled  cleaves, 
Whilst  the  Simoon's  burning  breath 

Flareth  o'er  its  crackled  leaves. 
Can  false  pity's    galling  drop, 

Of  bitter  dew  avail  him? 
Or  his  anguish  mock'ry  stop, 

If  folly's  sons  bewail  him? 
Ah!  no — for  his  only   aim 

Looks  to  Eden's  crystal  height, 
At  the  stroke  of  death  to  claim 

Entrance  to  immortal  light. 

(from  the  scripture.) 


Jehovah,  creator  of  light 
To  Abraham,  whowalk'd  in  his  sight, 
This  blessing  did  sweetly  impart. 
In  accents  that  vanquish' d  his  heart; 
Like  the  stars  of  the  sky,  and  the  sands  of  the  sea, 
Thy  hallowed  seed  shall  m  multitude  be! 


Go  forth  from  thy  father's  dear  home, 
From  thy  country  and  kindred  to  roam; 
To  the  land  that  myself  will  bestow. 
Which  with  milk  and  with  honey  doth  flov, 

POEMS.  67 

Like  the  stars  of  the  sky,  and  the  sands  of  the  sea, 
Thy  hallowed  seed  shall  in  multitude  be! 


Thy  tents  shall  be  clothed  with  peace; 
Thy  flocks  shall  my  blessing  increase, 
Thy  herds  shall  in  luxury  feed. 
On  the  wealth  of  the  fattening  mead. 
Like  the  stars  of  the  sky,   and  the  sands  of  the  sea 


The  ears  of  thy  rich  waving  grain. 

Shall  bow  with  their  weight  to  the  plain; 

O'er  thy  hills  the  far  spreading  vine, 

Its  rich  purple  clusters  shall  twine. 
Like  the  stars,  &;c. 


Thy  footsteps  beneath  shall  arise, 

The  cedar  that  pierceth  the  skies, 

The  olive,  the  fig  tree  and  palm, 

And  the  odorous  life-giving  balm 
Like,  &c. 


The  foes  of  thy  life  and  thy  right, 

Myself  will  arise  in  my  might, 

To  scathe  with  my  arrows  of  fire. 

And  blast  with  the  breath  of  mine  ire. 
Like,  &c. 


With  silver  and  gold  in  thy  store. 

Can  bounty  divine  lavish  more? 


Graced  with  my  smile  and  my  nod, 
How  blest  are  the  children  of  God! 
Like  the  stars,  &.c 


AN   ODE. 

Ye  sons  of  Loyola,  exult  in  the  cross! 

Of  a  home  and  a  country,  ye  reck  not  the  loss; 

The  sons  of  this  world,  from  their  dwelling*  may  fly, 

Torn  from  their  country,  they  languish  and  die. 

The  limits  of  earth  are  your  present  abode, 

But  boundless  your  country,  the  country  of  God. 


In  want  and  in  peril,  in  hunger  and  cold, 
Y'e  shrink  not  from  danorer,  your  spirits  are  bold. 
The  sons  of  this  world,  where  adversity  tends, 
Retire  in  dismay  with  their  leofion  of  friends. 
But  where  is  the  wild  by  your  footsteps  uatrod? 
Your  footsteps  that  tend  to  the  glory  of  God. 


Not  the  rack,  nor  the  sword,  not  faggot  nor  fire, 

Your   breasts  can  a  moment  with  terror  inspire. 

When  pestilence  scatters  her  venimous  dew, 

The  sons  of  this  world  all  vanish  from  view. 

But  ye  nobly  advance  Vainst  her  death  spreading  rod^ 

Shielded  and  safe,  by  the  buckler  of  God. 

POEMS.  69 


Ye  list  not  the  charms  of  aUuring  delight, 
Idly  her  sweets  are  displayed  to  your  sight. 
The  sons  of  this  world,  they  have  tasted  in  vain; 
They  have  tasted  and  found  that  her  pleasure  is  pain. 
Your  feet  with  the  peace  of  the  gospel  are  shod; 
Your  delights  are  the  pure  consolations  of  God. 


Rejoice  then  in  insults,  they  wait  on  your  name, 
The  scorn  of  this  world  is  a  peace  giving  fame. 
For  its  glory  shall  pass  like  a  shadow — a  gleam. 
That  at  eve,  on  the  gray  mist  of  winter  may  beam. 
But  your  glory  depends  not  on  princes'  false  nod; 
For  changeless  your  glory,  the  glory  of  God. 


Soon  would  ye  part  from  this  valley  of  tears; 
Death  has  no  terrors — your  bosom  no  fears. 
The  sons  ofthis  world,  they  wither  with  fright, 
When  the  portals  of  death  arise  on  their  sight. 
You  joyfully  lay  down  your  bones  on  the  sod, 
And  haste  to  repose  in  the  bosom  of  God. 

M  Gesu,  a  Roma,  Jin,  1822. 

TO  A  NUN. 

Virgin,  lone  living 
In  virtue's  abode, 


All  thy  life  giving- 
To  love  and  iliy  God, 


Constantly  raising 

Thy  heart  and  thy  voice, 
Sweetly  in  praising 

The  spouse  of  thy  choice, 


Thine'sthe  heart  reeling 

Of  heavenly  joy, 
Exquisite  feeling 

That  never  can  cloy. 


No  words  are  able 
That  lips  can  employ. 

No  thoughts  can  fable 


Pleasure  may  nourish 
This  beautiful  earth; 

Love  too  may  llourish 
Frogetful   of  worth. 

But,  no  to-morrow 

Can  alter  thy  lot. 
Thou  hast  no  sorrow. 
That  the  world  has  not 

POEMS.  71 


Thorns  wound  the  fingers, 
Among  rosy  flowers; 

Vice  often  lingers, 

In  beautys's  bright  bowers, 


The  smiles  that  dimple 

This  life's  pleasing  stream, 

Are  not  so  simple, 
So  sweet  as  they  seem. 


False  gems  may  spangle 
The  waves  curling  gay; 

And  rank  ^veeds  tangle 
The  current's  wild  way. 


Joy  then,  in  musing 

On  beauty  above: 
Joy  in  diffusing 

Thy  sisterly  love. 


Once  if  left  lonely, 

Devotion's  gem  gone. 
Dull  penance  only 
Can  lead  thy  soul  on. 


Sighing  unholy 


O'er  solitude's  sod, 
Weeping  thy  folly 

And  loathing  thy  God. 


All  things  c'omparing, 
The  maid  is  most  blest, 

Least  sorrow  sharing, 
Who  loves  her  God  best. 


Well  hast  thou  chosen 
The  spouse  of  thy  soul: 

His  lov^e  is  frozen 
By  no  cold  control. 

Jealousy  never 

Between  you  can  be; 
No  rival  sever 

His  fondness  from  thee. 


Be  not  a  rover. 

Thy  bridegroom's  sweet  home, 
Life's  vovapfe  over, 

Is  Heaven's  bright  dome. 


The  charm  is  gone,  the  spell  is  broke, 

POEMS*  73 

That  bound  me  to  my  native  spot; 
The  tie  of  love  is  rent  away. 
But — have  I  from  my  slumber  woke, 

And  are  those  dreams  of  love  forgot, 
Or  am  I  still  a  child  of  clay? 
I  bid  ail  thoughts  of  love  farewell. — 
Let  wizzard  bind  the  treble  spell, 
Let  thunder  craze  the  stratled  world, 
Let  ruin  on  mankind  be  hurl'd. 
Let  luscious  wine  the  soul  incense. 
Let  softest  music  fire  the  sense, 
Let  beauty's  charms  angelic  beam. 
Of  love  again  I  never  dream. 


How  sweet  retirement  sweeter  grows, 
That  from  the  mind's  election  flows! 
How  earthly  beauty  worldly  love. 
Fade  as  our  thoughts  ascend  above! 

View  all  with  faith's  instructive  eye. 
Live  thou  as  thou  would'st  wish  to  die! 
A  few  short  years  will  soon  be  gone, 
And  leave  thy  soul  to  God  alone! 


1.  Wood-crested  hills  and  verdant  vales  among. 

See  Northern-Carolina's  leain'd  retreat! 
Where  arts  and  letters  and  the  poet's  son^ 


Adom  with  majesty  the  Muses'  seat. 

2.  The  modest  mansion  of  her  mental  pride, 
Shines  not  with  ornamental  beauty  crown'd 

But  spreads  theradience  of  fair  science  wide, 
And  beams  witti  glory  on  the  world  around. 

3.  The  solid  worth  of  man's  progressive  good, 

The  heart's  sweet  excellence,  &  truth's  firm  sway, 
Have  higher,  here,  in  triumph  nobly  stood. 
Than  all  the  pageants  of  ambition's  play. 

4.  'Twas  here,  that  ancient  lore  a  refuge  found, 
And  Music's  sons  awoke  the  tuneful  lyre: 

'T  ,\^as  here,  our  fathers  trod  on  classic  ground, 
And  genius  burned  with  patriotic  fire. 

5.  'Tis  here  Invention  bids  the  mind  to  rove, 
The  latent  virtues  of  each  plant  explore, 

Trace  mystic  nature  through  the  blossom'd  grove, 
And  force  her  secrets  from  the  stubborn  ore. 

6.  Survey  the  rolling  orbs  and  glowing  stars 
Of  Heaven's  vast  field,  with  telescopic  eye; 

And  mark  w^here  comets  whirl  their  rapid  cars, 
And  stream  in  beauty  through  the  blazing  sky. 

7.  Here  flow  the  springs^of  knowledge  on  the  mind, 
In  streams  irrigfuous  from  the  fount  of  truth; 

Here  are  the  traits  to  History  consigned, 
Graved  on  the  memory  of  wondering  youth: 

8.  Here  bloom  the  flowers  that  Poesy  desires; 
Here  Looric  braces  reason's  nervous  arm; 

Here  Eloquence  divinely  tames  or  fires 
The  varied  passions  that  our  bosoms  warm. 

POEMS.  75 

9/^  What  wisdom  and  experience  deeply  teach, 

What  holy  Socrates  and  Plato  thought, 
And  what  the  humble  Jesus  deigned  to  preach, 

Are  here  by  precept  and  example  taught. 

10.  Oh!  blest  abode!  thy  christian  faith  remainSj 
On  thee  no  impious  skeptic  durst  intrude, 

Thy  charity  misfortune's  child  sustains, 
And  rescues  worth  from  poverty's  sad  mood! 

11.  Here  in'thy"^ fostering  bosom  cherished  long, 
Those  twin  Societies  of  banded  friends, 

Have  flourished  in  their  rivalry  of  song; 
And  each  its  own  benevolence  extends. 

12.  To  merit,  more  than  fame  thy  son's  aspire, 
In  useful  arts  and  happiness  to  live; 

They  seek  no  wealth,  no  pleasure  they  desire 
But  what  fair  science  and  the  Muses  give. 

13.  May  Providence  o'er  thee  her  wings  extend, 
May  virtue  ever  on  thy  dwelling  shine, 

May  sweet  devotion  at  thine  altar  bend, 
And  modest  fame  and  real  worth  be  thine! 

14.  And  may'st  thou  soon  forget  the  stranger  wight 
Who  hailed  thy  glories  on  his  lonely  tour; 

Him  cold  neglect,  and  chill  repulse  may  siigt, 

Too  little  worthy  to  behold  thy  bower. 
June  27, 1839. 


3h!  Is  there  none  to  give  the  mind  relief, 
No  stable  hand  to  prop  the  dizzy  sense, 


Bewildered  by  the  dreams  of  want  and  grief, 

Of  drear  futurity  and  sad  suspense] 
What  painful  anguish  racks  my  tortured  brain, 

How  dreadful  is  this  vacancy  of  heart, 
No  mortal  arm  can  break  my  galling  chain, 

The  soul  must  from  its  tenement  depart! 

And  oh!  how *^ ft 'twill  stand  upon  the  brink. 
And  cast  a  wistful  thought  athwart  the  gloom; 

And  then  as  oft  with  terror  backward  shrink, 
To  hope  no  refuge,  save  the  dreaded  tomb. 

And  where  are  friends — and  where  are  hopes— all  gone- 
All  withered  like  the  rootless  grass  away; 

They  left  me  deep  in  sorrow — deeply  lone — 
With  not  a  gleam,  to  sheer  my  darksome  day. 

Come,  sorrow  then — and  brood  thee  o'er  my  heart, 
Here  where,  I  grieve  lone  and  disconsolate. 

Come  hateful  guest,  hence  never  more  depart. 
But  wait  obsequious  on  my  wretched  fate. 

Let  none  be  found — no  friend  of  social  life, 
To  soothe  with  comfort's  tongue  my  darksome  soul; 

My  dwelling  is  with  spectres;  and  'tis  rife, 
With  gloom  and  darkness  horrible  control! 

Here  will  1  dwell,  where  ruin  spreads  around, 

Her  rotting  relics  on  the  wasted  earth; 
Where  shrieking  owls,  and  noisome  weeds  are  found 

And  vermin  foul — all  nature's  loathed  birth. 

Like  the  dark  Raven,  melancholy's  bird, 

That  sits  upon  some  tottering  blacken'd  spire; 

Or  like  some  leafless  tree,  that  deserts  gird 
With  woe  around,  blasted  and  rent  with  fire. 

POEMS.  77 

rhe  joyless,  heartless,  speechless  stresim  of  woe, 
That  bears  me  sadly  down  the  gulf  of  years, 

J'low'd  at  ray  luckless  birth,  and  on  will  flow, 
In  thickening  wave,  of  sor  row  swoln  with  tears. 

Vnd  yet  I  will  not  weep,  like  woman  kind, 

The  scorn  of  every  hardy  nature's  child; 
SI"o  tear  shall  rust  my  iron  strength  of  mind, 

No  pain,  no  agony  shall  make  me  wild. 

Liike  some  lorn  traveller  of  midnight  tale. 

Belated  on  the    drear  and  lonesome  fell, 
5hall  be  my  journey  down  the  fearful  vale, 

That  quickly  leads  to  nothing — or  to  Hell. 

■  % 



Inseet  that  rambles 

O'er  the  soft  green  blade, 

Hangs  on  the  brambles. 

Or  shines  in  the  shade, 


2.  ^. 

Where  thy  light  twinkles  x^  ' 

With  many  a  hue. 
When  evening  sprinkles 

Her  glittering  dew. 


^Twas  Heaven  selected, 
"!    That  clear  lamp  for  thee, 


That  well  directed 
Thy  lover  might  be, 

'  'Twas  not  intended, 

To  lead  thee    to  harm; 
But  was  suspended 
Thy  true  love  to  charm. 


Yet  from  thee  taken 
The  lamp  of  thy  love, 

Thou  all  forsaken, 

In  darkness  would'st  rove. 


f  hou  and  the  token 
Of  youth's  tender  mind 
j  Candor  unbroken. 

With  virtue  entwined, 

Sweetly  resembling 

Thy  soft  mellow  glow; 
Timidly  trembling 

When  light  passions  blow. 

Yet  sadly  fading 

In  sorrow  and  might; 
If  guilt  degrading 

Once  dim  the  pure  light* 

POEMS.  79 


Sweet  is  the  music  of  friendship  remember'd. 
To  a  tender  heart  nurtured  in  sorrow; 

'Tis  like  the  soft  tones  of  distant  bells  tempered, 
By  the  hopes  of  a  festive  to-morrow. 

How  gently  the  kind  accents  fall, 

When  sympathy  whispers  to  woe; 
Or  the  tear  tales  of  others  recall, 

The  days  of  our  sadness  below! 

But  ever  this  tender  heart  doom'd  to  misfortune,] 
Must  retire  from  the  voice  of  its  charmer; 

Lest  she  too,  be  twined  in  the  web    of  his  fortune, 
And  the  star  of  his  destiny  harm  her. 

How  sad  is  the  curse  of  that  soul, 

Whose  loves  and   whose  sorrows   contend, 

And  whose  torment's  the  bitter  control. 
Which  his  fate  may  inflict  on  his  friend! 


When  thoughts  are  sadly  strolling 
To  scenes  of  woe  and  qualm; 

The  breath  of  lips  consoling. 
Brings  sweet  and  holy  calm. 

When  hearts  are  fondly  grieving. 


For^those  who  were  below; 
The  lovely  bosom's  heaving, 

Wakes  rapture's  soothing  glow*'^ 

When  dread  despair  is  creeping, 
To  reason's  trembling  throne, 

The  kind  affection's  weeeping, 
Recalls  the  mind  that's  gone. 

When  wealth  and  gold  beguiling, 

In  all  their  lustre  glare; 
The  simple  maiden's  smiling 

Lays  all  their  falsehood  bare. 

/  When  pomp  is  proudly  prancing, 
'Round  grandeur's  gilded  crown; 
The  blue  eye's  brilliant  glancing, 
Puts  all  that  glitter  down. 

When  purple  wines  are  gushing, 
To  quench  the  thirsting  lip; 

The  features  richly  blushing, 
Present  a  sweeter  sip. 

\  When  music's  notes  are  reeling, 

And  floating  echoes   ring. 
The  gentle  accents  stealing, 

Touch  deep  the  heart's  soft  string. 

When  pleasure's  nets  are  spreading, 
Deceits  and  painted  toys. 

The  maiden's  happy  wedding. 
Brings  pure  and  lasting  joys. 

POEMS.  81 


Nunquam  aliud  Natura  aliud  sapientia  dicit^ 

juv.  Sat.  xrr."32i. 


Once,  sacred  music  held  the  throng 

Here,  in  solemn  mute  control, 
Once  holy  sounds  of  vesper  song, 

Here  impress'd  the  feeling  soul. 

And  sweet  devotion  joyful  breath'd, 

In  the  soul's  sincere  desire, 
Round  Avhich  her  circling  flame  she  wreath'd 

Nourished  by  seraphic  fire. 

Now  gloomy  silence  reigns  here,  lone 

Palling  on  the  ear's  chill'd  sense, 
Save  weekly  anthems  coldly  drone, 

And  a  colder  faith  dispense. 

Yet  deep  amid  these  pillared  aisles, 
And  e'en  through  this  voiceless  glo  om, 

A  spirit  seems  to  speak  in  smiles, 
Like,  an  angel  from  the  tomb: 

Bidding  the  true  believer,  hail! 

And  with  majesty's  sweet  grace; 
Welcome  him  home  from  long — long  wail, 

To  his  own,  his  native  place. 

Where  Verger's  well  conned  tales  relate, 
Christians'  glory,  pagans'  shame, 




The  freeman's  love,  the  big-ot's  hate; 
Albaii' s  great  exalted  name. 

What  ill  could  Pagan    hate  ordam, 

If  religion  stood  by  thee, 
Fire,  torture,  death  were  all — all  vain: 

Death  was  Alban's  victory. 

Oh!  to  think  on  thy  noble  deed, 

Stirs  the  spirit  of  the  free! 
For  freedom  is  the  mart^nr's  creed, 

Religion  is  no  slavery. 

No  tyrant's  power  can  pass  the  irrave, 
Alban  passed  the  Vere  dry-shod, 

To  liberty  a  t\Tant  gave, 

To  be  free  vrith  freedom's  God! 

OhI  "Britain  how  could'st  thou  forget, 

How  spoil  his  sacred  pile, 
The  first  bright  star  in  blood  that  set, 

Of  free  conscience  on  thine  Isle! 

'Twas  not  devotion  led  on  those, 

Or  a  zeal  for  purer  riles, 
"Who  would  not  let  his  bones  repose, 

AVhen  they  quenched  his  altar  lights, 

Oh!  rather  had  those  gifts  not  been, 
And  the  voice  of  bounty  hushM; 

Than,  that  his  altar  should  be  seen. 
Thus  with  wealth  tosrether  crush'd. 

POEMS.  83 

^Tis  better  that  the  great  should  bend, 

To  the  minister  of  grace, 
Than,  holy    poverty  ascend, 

To  possess  the  highest  place. 

But  who  of  Britain's  sons  the  chain, 

Of  such  tyranny  could  bear; 
If  traitors  had  not  learned  to  feign 

Tales  of  virtue  in  his  ear. 

The  daring  wolf  with  ease  assumed, 
The  two  wealthy  shepherd's  cloak. 

Long  hath  the  simple  flock  been  doomed, 
Cheated  s'aves,  to  error's  yoke. 

But,  as  a  torrents  swelling  flood, 
Whelm's  a  streamle'ts  scanty  path; 

So,  sprung  from  Alban's  martyred  blood, 
Christian  hosts  quelled  Paynin  wrath. 

And  as  the  sword  is  gnawn  by  rust, 
From  the  drops  of  blood  which  cling; 

So  shall  this  mouldering  fabric's  dust, 
Kuin  on  the  traitors  bring. 

To  persecute  the  sacred  creed, 

Is  to  make  it  multiply; 
And  senseless  bigots  plant  the  seed 

Of  religious  liberty. 

Her  seeds  shall  ripen  into  day: 

Error  then  shall  reign  no  more, 
And  state  built  churches  shall  decay; 


And  their  hypocrites  grow  poor. 

The  faith  and  truth,  shall  men  perceive,'' 

Not  to  differ,  save    in  name. 
And  wiser  nations  shall  believe, 

God  and  reason  say  the  same. 

St.  Mbans,  June,  21,1830. 

TO  MISS   J-^*-^  M-*'**-*-^. 

JBen  conosco  il  tenor  della*  mia  stella:  Pastor  Fido, 
Full  well  I  know  the  aspect  of  my  star. 

Had  my  fortune  ne'er  forbad  me, 

To  think  thou  cold'st  be  mine; 
Not  a  smile  of  hers  could  glad  me, 

So  much  as  one  of  thine. 

But  since  she  doth  deny  me. 

Her  else  unvalued  dross. 
Thy  memory  shall  supply  me, 

With  solace  for  my  loss. 

And  my  grief  should  ne'er  oppress  me, 

If  it  could  lessen  thine; 
But  thine  deeply  will  distress  me, 

If  it  resemble  thine. 

Oh!  may'st  thou  soon  forget  me, 

As  one  of  little  worth! 
I  woidd  not  one  regret  me,  ^ 

POEMS.  85 

Throughout  this  lonely  earth. 

No  misfortune  more  can  grieve  me, 

No  joy  can  more  be  mine; 
Yet  this  simple  heart,  believe  me, 

Will  cherish  each  of  thine. 

Farewell — that  word  dejects  me. 

And  still  it  must  be  said; 
Farewell — that  word  rejects  me, 

And  Heaven  must  be  obeyed. 

New  York,  Nov.  30tk  1832. 



Say  not   woman's  fickle — no! 

Say  her  graces  make  her  so! 
When  rays  of  light  caress, 
The  Turtle's  plumy  dress, 

The  chang'ng  color,  changing  shows 
Another  light,  another  hue, 
That  ever  bright,  and  ever  new. 
Yet  to  the  sight  is  never  true; 

While  melting  beauty,  melting  flows. 

With  lovely  glow  on  the  silken  vest; 

Like  saffron  clouds  in  the  crimson  west, 

Or  waves  of  amethyst  that  curl. 

Brightly  over  a  sea  of  pearl! 

The  golden  light  of  ^'      "•orning's  eye. 


The  purple  clouds  of  the  azure  sky, 
The  diamond  drops  of  the  emerald    green, 
The  richest  tints  in  the  rainbow  seen. 
Compared  with  the  smiles,  of  that  beautiful  grace, 

That  w^anders  so  sweetly  o'er  woman's  dear  face; 
Are  weak  as  the  pallid  and  silvery  locks, 

Of  the  sickly  sun,  whom  the  dun  cloud  mocks; 
In  the  misty  haze  of  December's  air, 

Compared  with  his  golden  midsummer  hair. 

■^    *    *    >^    -^    -*    ^    j^    -;}c    *    »    -^    *    -^    * 

How  few  can  look, 
Unmoved  on  the  page, 
Of  beauty's  book! 
The  simple  and  sage, 
Must  read  how  her  charms, 
The  human  heart  warms. 
For  by  the  hand  of  fair  nature  attired, 
How  justly  are  woman's  soft  changes  admired. 
And  the  lover's  suspicion's  unkind. 
Who  thinks  her  of  changeable  mind. 
F  or  the  ebb  and  the  flow,  of    pleasure's  sweet   rill 

Must  be  constantly  changing  its  beautiful  way; 
Should  its  waves  ever  fail,  or  its  music  be  still. 
The  pathway  of  love,  were  a  channel  of  clay. 
Oh!  Woman's  the  dearest  boon  of  Heaven, 
To  the  sons  of  earth  in  mercy  given. 
Her  consolation's  balm, 
Soothing,  sweet  and  calm. 
To  aching  hearts  with  sorrow  riven, 
And  maddening  souls  to  fury  driven. 
To  the  stormy  bosom's  raging, 

She's  soft  submission's  meekness: 
To  the  face  that  smiles  engaging, 

POEMS,  8  7 

^he's  dear  affection's  weakness. 
In  her  lover's  peril  time, 

She  bears  the  lion's  boldness. 
At  the  very  thought  of  jcrime, 

She  turns  to  icy  coldness. 

•^  <^  '^  '^  ^  '^  '"JS  ~^  <i^  '^  <P' 


"FORGET    ME    NOT.'' 

Bright  is  the  blue 

Of  the  violet's  hue, 

In  the  sweet  season  blowing. 

Bright  is  the  blue. 

Of  April  sky  too, 

'Mid  the  fleecy  clouds  showing. 

And  bright  is  the  blue, 

In  the  soft  eye  true. 

With  the  dearest  joy  flowing; 

But  brighter  blue. 

In  the  cup  we  view, 

Of  ''Forget  me  not"  glowing. 

They  are  bright  new, 
When  warm  pleasures  sue, 
Hope  her  youngest  seeds  sowing. 
71iou  art  bright  old, 
When  pleasures  are  cold. 
And  our  latest  hopes  going. 



7 hey  are  brigt  new, 
When  friends  are  most  true, 
And  our  fortune  most  smiling. 
Thou  art  bright  old, 
When  few  friends  are  told, 
And  our  fortunes  declining. 

London^  1832. 

A  Tale. 

'Twas  eventide,  a  summer's  day, 
The  village  hush'd  and  still, 

Save,  where  the  youth  intent  on  play, 
Displayed  their  little  skill. 

An  aged  traveller  past  that  way, 

Unheeded  and  unknown. 
His  cheek  was  wan,  his  beard  was  gray^ 

His  clothes  were  rudely  torn. 

The  wanton  youth  his  garb  deride, 

And  scoff  in  merry  mood. 
But  he  their  giddy  years  to  chide, 

And  do  his  neighbor  good, 

''Forbear,  my  sons''  with  mildness  cries, 

To  mock  my  age  in  scorn, 
Nor  tempt  the  vengeance  of  the  skies, 

To  blast  your  rising  morn. 

POEMS.  89 

A  youth  I  ike  yours,  T  once  possess'd, 

Like  you  I  loved  my  play, 
And  emulation  fired  my  breast, 

To  shine  among  the  gay- 

But  now  my  spring  my  summer's  past, 

Past  is  my  autumn  too, 
My  cheerless  winter's  come  at  last; 

Ah!  soon  'twiil  creep  on  you." 

He  ceased,  but  soon  a  gentle  maid, 

Compassionate  and  kind, 
To  shame  the  thoughtless  youth  essay'd, 

And  check  their  boisterous  mind. 

"Oh!  fiej"^  she  cried,  "his  age  revere, 

And  give  his  wants  relief; 
Oh!  wipe  away  the  stranger's  tear, 

And  soothe  his  manly  grief. 

Ah  me!  perhaps  my  father's  tale, 

Resembles  his  in  woe; 
Perhaps  his  cheek's  as  woful  pale, 

Ah!  would  it  were  not  so! 

My  mother  oft  has  bid  me  come,  •' 

And  place  me  by  her  side, 
To  tell  m  e  how  he  left  his  home: 

And  crossed  the  ocean  wide.  "^ 

He  left  us  on  one  fatal  morn, 
He  left  us  both  dismay'd, 
He  left  my  dear-loved  mother  lorn, 


And  me  a  hapless  maid. 

His  baron  called  him  to  the  war, 

To  combat  bv  his  side; 
He  took  him  to  a  land  afar, 

And  there  I  know  he  died." 

The  tear  drops  in  the  stranger's  eye, 
Stood  glistening  like  the  dew. 

*'No,  No!"  He  cries,  ''He  did  notdie, 
He  lives,  he  speaks  to  you. 

Oh!  lead  me  to  your  mother's  cot, 

Oh!  Let  me  once  again, 
Behold  my  Katy  and  the  spot, 

I  left  with  so  much  pain. 

For  I  have  felt  the  pangs  of  woe, 
And  sad  has  been  my  doom. 

One  hour  of  bliss  remains  below. 
Then  lay  me  in  the  tomb." 



O'er  my  heart  a  charm  is  stealing 

Of  simplest,  sweetest,  purest  love 
But  not  a  love  of  human  feeling: 

That  clings  to  earth,  this  soars  above. 
Lovers  only  know  the  bliss; 
Bliss  is  theirs  and  God  is  bliss. 


POEMS.  91 


All,  all  my  thoughts  of  earthly  love 
To  my  earthly  spouse  are  given; 
My  heavenly  love  that  soars  above 
Only  to  the  King  of  Heaven, 
C  Lovers  only  know  the  bliss, 
c  Bliss  is  theirs,  and  God  is    bliss. 


Ricordati  di  me, 

Mi  ricordero  di  te. — Metastasio. 


Could  beauty's  smile,  or  female  worth 

Beaming  in  the  looks  we  love. 
Could  all  the  bliss  of  wealth  and  birth; 

Fondness  like  the  simple  dove. 
Or  virtue's  charms,  or  artless  mirth 

Dear  as  the  joys  we  hail  above, 
Have  ever  Agnes  made  thee  mine, 
This  hand  and  heart  were  truly  thine. 


There's  beauty  in  thine  auburn  tresses, 

Lustre  in  thy  bright  eyes; 
There's  dearness  in  thy  cheek's  distresses,        ' 

And  in  their  soft  light  dies; 
There's  sweetness  in  thy  smile's  caresses, 

Which  angels  e'en  might  prize. 
For  these,  my  heart  would  fondly  choose  thee, 
But,  evil  fates  to  me,  refuse  Ihee. 



I  dreamed,  that  thou  did'st  love  me  well, 
Coyly  that  consent  was  ^iven; 

I  dreamed,  I  heard  the  bridal  bell, 
Pablishing  our  vows  to  Heaven: 

But  waked,  to  wish  it  were  ray  knell, 
So  deeply  were  my  feelings  riven, 

Rememberins:  I  was  born  below, 

An  heir  to  nought,  save  human  woe. 


But  oh!  when  love  with  fortune  clashes 

Virtue  never  should  repine! 
Since  this  sad  heart's  chill  silent  ashes. 

In  their  urn  may  still  be  thine. 
Immortal  for  love's  mortal  flashes, 

Kindlins:  into  life  divine. 
But  yet,  this  life  is  bitter  anguish, 
To  souls  that  tor  each  other  languish. 


I  tried  the  palace  and  the  cot. 
Peaceful  plenty,  splendid  pride, 

And  deep  retirement's  sweeter  grot, 
And  gaiety's  sparkling  tide, 

I  tried  all  ranks,  I  tried  each  spot, 
But  no  heart's  ease  they  supplied, 

I  saw  thee,  and  forgot  my  pain, 

But  fortune  criei,  ''thy  wish  is  vain." 


Wanderer  o'erth'  unquiet  ocean, 

Exile  from  mine  early  home. 
Stranger  to  the  world's  commotion. 

Cipher  in  an  idle  tome, 
With  baseless  aim  and  empty  notion, 

Hopeless,  joyless  on  I  roam. 

POEMS.  93 

To  seek,  what  none  may  here  discover, 
The  bliss  of  Heaven,  whon  life  is  over. 


**So  distribution  should  undo  excess, 
And  each  man  have  enough." 

Shakespeab,  K.  Lear. 

Mine  Island,  with  riches  and  glory 

Was  blest,  in  her  plenty  of  yore, 
When  honor  emblazoned  her  story, 

And  Reliction  encircled  her  shore. 

But  now  she  is  lost  and  degraded, 

By  luxury,  riot  and  spoil, 
Her  honor  and  glory  are  faded; 

Her  Religion  hath  quitted  the  soil. 

Relior-ion  alone  cannot  save  her, 

She  must  from  her  tyrants  be  freed, 
Whose  oppression  and  error  deprave  her, 

By  taxes  and  tithings  and  greed. 

Mine  Island  is  greatly  misus'd, 

By  the  fraud  of  her  covetous  foes; 
Too  long  has  her  wealth  been  abused, 

In  creating  her  numberless  woes. 

Too  long  they  in  plenty  have  revelled, 

In  licence,  in  rapine,  and   lust; 
They  fear  with  the  slaves  to  be  levelled, 

Whom  they  trample  like  worms  in  the  dust. 

OhI  return  to  the  God  of  thy  Fathers, 


Return  to  thine  own  tormer  creed; 
For  the  whirlwind  ot'  ruin  now  gathers. 
That  crimes  and  apostacies  breed. 

The  surfeits  ofweaUh  that  oppress  thee. 
Wrung  alas!  from  thy  labonng  bands, 

W  ould  be  treasures  of  comfort  to  bless  thee, 
If  justice  but  numbered  thj  lands. 

I  woald  Dot  thy  tyrants  should  perish, 

I'd  have  them  anew  to  reform, 
rd  have  them  their  poor  brothers  cherish, 

And  escape  from  the  threateniog  storm. 

I  would  labor  receive  its  own  earning. 
And  capital  have  its  own  mite; 

Then  the  times  would  quickly  be  turning. 
The  poor  get  rich,  the  rich  get  right. 

The  tithe  would  not  fatten  the  preacher. 

Xor  set  up  new  creeds  of  belief; 
Religion  would  then  be  the  teacher, 

And  knowledore  would  cease  to  be  srief. 

Then  each  one,  would  honor  the  others. 
Then  Commerce  be  equally  nurst; 

Mankind  would  be  living  like  brothers. 
And  war's  kingly  bubble  would  burst- 

OhI  return  to  the  shepherd  who  gathers 
His  flock  from  each  nation  and  seed; 

Oh!  return  to  the  God  of  thy  Fathers, 
Return  to  thine  own  former  creed! 

POEMS.  95 


Oh!  where  are  the  joys  of  my  youth  that  is  flown] 
And  where  is  my  Edwin  who  left  me  to  weep] 
My  joys,  are  in  age,  into  solitude  grown: 

And  Edwin  I  ween  has  been  lost  in  the  deep; 
'Twas  here,  I  remember  he  left  me  alone, 
Where,  I  lay  myself  down  on  the  moss-covered  stone, 
Here,  we  pledged  ovrselves  both,  to  be  faithful  and  true, 
And  his  tears  flowed  so  fast,  as  he  bade  me  adieu! 


I  know  he  was  true,  to  the  last  of  his  breath, 

He  said,  he  would  ever  be  faithful  and  true, 
And  Edwin,  till  I  am  the  victim  of  death, 
Poor  Mary  shall  ever  be  faithful  to  you. 
It  shall  not  be  said,  you  abandoned  your  home, 
Tho'  never  to  Albin's  grey  mountains  you  come. 
It  was  here,  in  the  days  of  your  boyhood  you  sung, 
And  the  waterstream  heard,  and  the  dark  valley  rung. 


Oh!, would  that  these  hills  might  now  hail  your  return! 

That  I  might  behold  you  once  more  ere  Idle! 
At  least  while  I  live  for  your  loss  I  will  mourn; 

In  fancy  repose  me,  vvhere  Edwin  may  lie. 
And  when  the  green  moss,  on  our  grave  shall  be  gray. 
The  stranger  in  silence  shall  not  go  away. 
But  the  tear  of  compassion  shall  moisten  his  eye. 
And  his  bosom  shall  heave  with  a  peace-wishing  sigh! 


"FOGET   ME   NOT.'' 

To  picture  the  heart 
To  the  absent  and  dear, 


To  friends  far  apart, 

Whom  love  would  bring  near; 
Oh!  thou  art  the  meetest, 

Tho'  lowly  thy  lot, 
Of  blue  flower's    deepest, 
Forget  me  not. 


Perusing  thine  eye. 

Each  thinks  he  beholds, 
The  thousand  friends  nigh, 
Whom  thy  sweet  cup  holds. 
Thy  mirror  reflecteth, 
In  lovely  blue  grot, 

What  friendship  connecteth, 
Forget  me  not. 


Thou  art  closed  in  showers, 

And  closed  at  e'en  too; 
Yet  bright  in  those  hours, 

Tho' paler  thy  hue. 

When  fortune  thus  flieth. 
And  Friends  seem  forgot, 

A  paler  tint  dyeth, 
Forget  me  not, 


Thy  blue  tints  so  bright. 
Seem  deepest  in  dye; 

In  the  sun  beam's  light, 
Wlien  clouds  dim  the  sky, 
Aaid  friendship's  most  shaded, 

POEMS."  97 

When  adverse  our  lot, 
And  virtue's  least  faded^ 
Forget  me  not. 
Thy  memory  green, 

Most  lives  and  most  glows 
In  twin  hearts  when  seen, 

Untroubled  by  woes: 
And  then  too  most  waneth, 
When  friend  is  forgot, 
By  friend  that  disdaineth, 
Forget  me  not. 
The  grass  oft  conceals 

Thy  bright  and  deep  blue; 
So  the  heart  reveals. 

Least,  the  friend  most  true. 
And  friendship  when  surest, 
Oft  shows  without  spot, 
Unknown  friends  the  truest, 
Forget  me  not. 
Other  flowers  more  bright, 
TVilhout,  are  more  fair, 
Thou,  lowly  to  sight. 

Within^  art  most  rare. 
The  sweetest  first  cloyeth, 

So  the  hand  most  hot, 
Thy  bloom  first  destroyeth, 
Forget  me  not. 
Like  friendship's  coy  gem, 
Thy  cup  pressed  too  near 


Will  drop  from  the  stem, 

And  a  thorn  appear: 
In  the  sear  thou  fallest. 

Since  mortal  thy  lot; 
Like  those  thou  recallest, 

Forget  me  not. 


As  I  passed  through  a  Garden  one  day, 

I  admired  a  white  lily  growing, 
How  its  chaste  white  reflected  the  ray 

Of  the  sun  on  its  bright  petals  glowing. 
As  I  passed  there  when  evening  drew  nigh, 

I  saw  it  drooping  and  withered, 
Cast  aside  on  the  pathway,  to  die, 

From  its  stem  by  a  spoiling  hand  severed. 
All  cruhsed  and  degraded 
With  vile  weeds  it  lay. 
Its  chastest  white  faded 

And  soiled  by  the  clay. 
With  its  anthers  of  gold. 

That  shall  never  unfold; 
Ne'er  mingling  so  purely, 

To  give  its  seed  birth. 
But  die  immaturely, 
Returning  to  earth.- 
As  I  passed  through  a  village,  one  year,  ^ 

I  admired  a  simple  girl  playing, 
And  read  her  bright  eyes,  "  how  dear, 

The  joys  of  sweet  innocence,"  saying. 
As  I  passed  when  another  year  came, 

POEMS.  99 

I  saw  her  abandoned,  forsaken, 
Left  to  pine  in  the  dwelling  of  shame, 

From  her  sweet  home  by  false  lover  taken. 
Dejected,  grief-anguished, 

Lost,  guitly  and  v/eak. 
Her  once  bright  eye  languished, 

With  chill  glare  so  bleak, 
Not  a    smile  of  sweet  grace 

Shall  e'er  dimple  her  face; 
With  fond  kiss  endearing, 

No  sweet  babe  be  fed; 
But,  with  woe-wearing, 

She'll  creep  to  the  dead. 

Lovely  woman    is  like  the  rose. 

And  her  beauty  like  its  blushes: 
Her  love  like  the  butterfly  goes. 

Where  the  warmest  heartstream  gushes. 
The  roseblush  fadeth  with  the  morn, 

And  at  noon  the  rose  too  withers; 
A  cloud  leaves  the  butterfly  lorn. 

That  cold  in  the  drear  wind  shivers. 
Oh!  why  was  woman  made  so  frail. 

Or  why  should  beauty  fade  in  age? 
Should  love  and  beauty  never  fail, 

Oh!    where  would  be  our  prilgrimage.^ 
A  boon  too  rich  would  have  been  given 

This  life  have  been  an  angel's  lot, 
This  Paradise  a  blooming  Heaven, 

And  God  and  virtue  here  forgot. 


Written  in  an  Album,  Pilton,   1830. 
Of  friendship,  of  love,  and  good  nature, 


All  the  gifts,  I  with  grateful  heart  takey 
Pray,  give  me  a  print,  or  a  picture, 

Or  a  verse  for  my  dear  owner- s  sake. 
I  hide  neither  merit  nor  beauty, 

My  request  is  a  kindness  to  you; 
I  hold  it  my  sweet  pleasing  duty, 

To  exhibit  my  favors  to  view. 
And  who  turns  o'er  my  treasures  shall  find, 

A  full  page  with  variety  graced, 
Like  the  train  of  ideas  combined, 

On  the  tablets  of  memory  traced, 
ff  the  dullard,  or  wit  shall  complain. 

That  I  eke  out  my  patchwork's  dissight, 
Then,  my  answer  to  all  is  quite  plain, 

Not  one  only,  I  seek  to  delight. 
And  far  better  the  scrap  girl  displays, 

What  the  talents  of  others  compose, 
Than  commends  her  own  sketches  and  lays, 

As  the  myrtle  is  graced  by  the  rose. 


No  earthly  spot  I  call  my  home; 

No  cheering  hearth  forme  may  shine; 
No  heart  I  gain  where'er  I  roam, 

I  would  not  any's  lotlike  mine. 
I've  not  one  joy  to  soothe  my  brow,  l 

One  friend  to  dry  my  weeping  eye; 
For  kindred  souls  are  rarer  now. 

Than  in  the  days  of  youth  gone  by. 
One  lingering  star  still  guides  my  way, 

Or  seems  to  guide  in  mock'ry  now; 
One  lonely  hope  still  sheds  its  ray. 

Upon  my  mournful  evening  brow: 



That  Heaven  hath  still  decreed  an  hour, 

When  woman's  heart  shall  feel  for  m me: 
When  Love  shall  trim  my  fading  bower, 

And  Hymen  bless  my  life's  decline. 
If,  there,  were  any  like  to  me. 

How  could  I  find  among  that  few, 
The  one,  that  would  my  partner  be. 

So  fond  and  faithfid,  kind  and  true. 
Man  was  not  born  for  selfish  love, 

To  gather  heaps  of  golden  ore, 
In  quest  of  richer  lands  to  rove. 

Or  reap  the  gains  of  laboring  poor. 
Far  other  aims  exalt  his  bliss, 

The  single  heart  can  never  rest. 
Suppose  all  other  pleasures  miss. 

Still  love  alone  can  make  it  blest. 

Oh!  come  from  this  false  world  away, 

'Tis  great  to  flee  from  error. 
Can  it  be,  that  falsehood  is  gay, 

Shrinking  with  pangs  of  terror? 
Perplexed  is  the  whole  hope  of  error. 

But  suie  is  the  least  pledge  of  truth. 
No  shunning  the  region  of  terror. 

If  once  we  love  falsehood  in  youth! 
As  much  we  hate  the  false  deceiver; 
So  much  we  love  the  true  believer. 
Oh  come  from  this  sad  world  away, 

'Tis  sweet  to  part  with  sorrow. 
Can  misery  win  us  to  stay. 

When  brightly  dawns  the  morrow? 
Oh!  sad  sets  the  death  night  of  sorrow; 


But  bright  springs  tlie  birth  day  of  bliss. 
No  joys  in  the  world  of  to-morrow, 

If  we  taste  no  anguish  in  this! 
As  gladly  smiles  the  good  man's  gladness; 

So  sadly  frowns  the  bad  man's  sadness. 



When  the  Peri  who  perfumes 
All  the  young  and  tender  blooms, 

Of  fair  Circassia's  bright  flowers, 
A  deep  blush  saw  one  morning, 
A  sweet  rose  bud  adorning, 

Just  sprinkled  by  the  light  showers, 


Such  loveliness  admiring. 
She  felt  a  heart  desiring, 

'T  were  beneath  some  shady  spray; 
For,  melancholy  sorrow, 
Before  another  morrow, 

The  dear  bud  must  fade  away, 


"Yes,  hanging  there  suspended, 
Thy  bloom  will  soon  be  ended;" 

Said  she  with  no  heedless  sigh, 
'*Fondly  if  I  gather  thee, 

POEMS.  103 

Sooner  shall  I  wither  thee, 

Sooner  will  thy  sweetness  die. 


•*Yet  stay,  I'll  set  thy   blossom 
On  fair  Eliza's  bosom, 

That  kind  declining  creature; 
Whose  Edwin's  heart  refuses, 
The  bhss  which  love  diffuses, 

O'er  every  shining  feature. 


<'And  leave  thee  there    to  languish, 
Meet  partner  of  her  anguish. 

Sorrow  seems  then  only  less, 
When  sister  sorrow  meets  her, 
When  sigh  or  tear  drop  greets  her, 

Gently  in  her  loneliness. 


*'Eliza  too  must  perish, 
In  vain  we  hope  to  cherish 

Earth's  fairest  loveliest  thing. 
Oh!  would  that  I  were  dwelling 
Where  chrystal  waves  are  welling. 

From  Eden's  holiest  spring. 


* 'Every  beauteous  thing  that  blows. 
Every  noble  heart  that  glows. 

Brightly  o'er  our  pilgrimage, 
By  glittermg  hope  is  lighted, 
But  to  be  darkly  blighted. 


By  distress  or  chill  dim  age7 


•'Deeper  draughts  ot^  pleasure's  cup, 
Draw  but  deeper  bitters  up. 

There  are  none  so  blest  as  they, 
Who  pleasure  lightliest  tasting, 
And  homeward  swiftlicst   hasting. 

Go  the  first  to  rest  away. 

*     -^     ijc     v^     *     .^     ;•?     eK-     ijr     ^     vU 

Where  are  the  Patriots  who  brandished  their  arms, 
To  guard  their  dear  country  from  v;arlike  alarms? 
They  rest  in  their  graves  on  the  bed  of  repose, 
But  their  country  is  torn  by  her  merciless  foes. 
Oh!  weep  for  the  heroes  who  lived  not  to  save 
The  land  of  their  birlh  from  venality's  grave 
Perish  the  gold  and  accursed  be  the  day 
That  discovered  a  villain  so  black,  to  betray 
Who  could  blast  the  fair  name  of  so    spotless  a  one, 
She  had  but  her  virtue  to  guard  her  alone. 

i^    -^    -^    -;ic    vjj    ;je    *    i»r 

London,  June,  18*20. 

Would'st  thou  fond  3^outh  assume  the  sacred  name. 

And  Vv'oo  with  vain  desire  the  sister  train? 
Forbear:  lest  sad  repulse  and  purpled  shame, 

Thy  infant  laurels  immatuiely  stain. 

POEMS.  1C5 

The  fair  Calliope  since  the  birth  of  time, 
Scarce  thrice,  has  deig'ti'd  to  hear  the  poet's  prayer^ 

And  may'st  thou  rove  in  fancy's  fairy  clime, 
Or  borne  on  airy  wing  sublimely  dare? 

Ah  no!  mount  not  Medusa's  fierv  steed. 

Lest  he,  who    bears  the  shafts  and  silver  bow, 

Descending  in  his  wrath,  avenge  the  deed, 
And  lay  the  hapless  poetaster  low. 

Nor  think  with  Satyrs  and  the  laughing  God, 
Thy  oaten  pipe  to  tune  for  shepherd  swains; 

Long  time,  he  left  the  green  Arcadian  sod, 
They  list  not    now  to  Poet's  idle  strains. 

E'en  Comusbids  thee  from  his  revels  part, 
And  fain  would  think  thee  not  a  merry  wight, 

And  should'st  thou  tempt  the  moralizer's  art, 
Would  any  heed  what  fiction's  children  write? 

Give  then  thy  heart  to  wisdom's  blue  eyed  maid, 
Nor  aim  too  soon,  to  wing  thy  flight  on  high, 
Lest,  like  an  eaglet  from  the  nest  ill-stray'd. 
Unfledged,  thou  fall  and  fainting  early  die. 


She  who  loved  in  her  youth's  sweet  spring. 
And  sorrowed  o'er  a  widowed  bier, 

True  to  another's  heart  may  cling, 
And  hear   its  vows  with  feeling  ear. 

But  never  can  her  bosom  burn, 

With  such  exalted  love  again; 
Not  if  she  leave  the  tear  dew'd  urn, 


A  widow's  for  a  lover's  pain. 

There  is  a  heart  that  pants  fcr  hers, 
A  heart  that's  rich  in  virtue's  love, 

Which  never  strayed,  as  truth  avers, 
In  Bacchic  or  in  Paphion  grove. 

Oh!  could  she  soon  her  tears  forget. 

And  bind  her  own  to  that  heart's  fate, 
Her  love  might  bloom  and  flourish  yet, 
\Yith  bliss  and  beauty  renovate. 

Tlie  winds  may  rage,  the  waves  may  swell, 
That  constant  heart  will  never  fail. 

There,   honor,  truth  and  virtue  dwell. 
Though  passions  rave,  'twill  never  quailj 


From  country  to  country  I  roam. 
An  exile  from  all  that  is  dear; 

This  wide  world  my  comfortless  home, 
And  my  kindred  the  stranger  near. 

The  friend  of  my  bosom'is  dead. 
The  maid  that  my  fancy  adores, 

To  the  far  land  of  spirits  is  fled, 
And  no  one  my  sorrow  deplores. 

My  parents  in  silence  repose; 

My  brothers  and  sisters  are  gone; 
My  journey  of  life  I  must  close, 

But  sadly  and  coldly  alone. 

The  thoughts  of  my  youth  were  refined 
By  candor,  and  virtue,  and  lore, 

POEMS.  107 

I  revere  with  sensitive  mind, 
The  being:  who  rules  us  above. 


The  path,  by  my  weary  steps  trod, 
Through  cruel  and  savacve  men  lies, 

They  heed  not  the  precepts  of  God, 
And  justice  and  honor  despise. 

My  truth  unsuspecting  is  made 

A  pitiless  prey  to  deceit; 
Its  g'oodness  by  false  friends  betray'd, 

My  kind  heart's  a  snare  to  my  feet. 

Yet  ne'er  shall  my  spirit  complain, 
While  woman  is  feeling  and  kind; 

Her  voice  is  so  soothing  to  pain, 
So  sweet  to  the  suffering  mind. 

Death's  awful  and  much  dreaded  blow. 
To  me,  would  be  mercy's  sweet  graee^ 

Better  not  be  lonely  below, 
Than  linger  the  last  of  my  lace. 


thought  not  such  unreal  woe. 
However  sad  the  thrilling  strain, 
>ould  touch  my  heart,  could  move  me  so, 

To  weep  at  others'  fancied  pain! 
5oft  as  the  purling  streamlet's  flow, 
)escend  the  drops  of  tragic  woe. 

Iweet  Melpomene's  thy  measure, 
.  To  the  tender  hefted  mind, 


Thine  the  heart  inspiring  treasure, 

No  churlish  soul  may  hope  to  find! 
Pleasure's  grief,  and  grief  is  pleasure, 
In  thy  softly  pleasing  measure. 

'Twas  fable  once  that  Orpheus'  lay 
Moved  the  tyrant's  stony  Iieart, 

Lead  rivers  from  their  banks  astray, 
And  that  beasts  confesthis  art. 

That  unbelief  has  passed  away, 

Since  I  have  heard  thy  tragic  lay. 


Dans  le  bonheur  d'autrui  je  cherche  mon  bonheur: 

Lecid  de  Corneille. 

Oh!  could  I  learn  to  love  thee  less, 

Or  bear  another's  gentle  sway; 
How  gladly  would  I  not  address 
The  heart  which  I  must  still  obey. 
I  love  but  one, 

'Tis  thee,    still  thee. 
But  yet  that  one 
Will  ne'er  love  me. 

Oh!  could  I  die  to  break  the  charm. 
That  binds  my  simple  heart  to  thine, 

I'd  long  to .  die,  lest  breath  of  harm 
Should  flow  from  any  wish  of  mine. 

I  love  but  one  &c. 

POEMS.  109 

Oh! could  another's  joy  not  part' 
My  hopes  of  happiness  fiom  thine, 

How  would  I  clasp  him  to  my  heart, 
And  twine  his  wedding  bliss  with  mine. 

I  love  &c. 

But  since  I  cannot  love  thee  less, 
Oh  grant  me  still  this  one  desire, 

That  none  thy  treasure  may  possess, 
Unless  his  breast  feel  honor's  fire. 

I  love  (fee. 

Oh!  none  can  compass  all  thy  worth, 
Thy  sweetness,  grace,  intelligence, 

Virtues  with  which  God  decked  thy  birthj 
The  jewels  of  thine  excellence. 

I  love  &;c. 

Devoted  object  of  his  care, 

Amid  sweet  nature's  lovely  things, 

She  made  thee  fairest  of  her  fair. 
In  beauty's  bright  imaginings. 

I  love  &c. 

If  one  slight  glance  of  thine   betray 
The  erring  sense  of  gazing  youth. 

Another  and  a  brighter  ray. 

Leads  back  to  virtue  and  to  truth. 

Hove  (fee. 

Thus  fire  gives  gold  a  brighter  gloss, 

But  tarnishes  impure  alloy; 
And  disappointment's  trial  cross 


Chastens  the  lover's  sensual  joy. 

I  love  &  c 

None  but  the  noble  and  the  best 

Should  revel  in  thy  dear  caress; 
None  will  deserve  to  be  more  blest, 

Than  the  one,  whom  thou  shalt  bless. 

I  love  &c. 

Who  e'er  he  be,  he  may  not  take 

From  me   the  love  I  bear  to  thee, 
For  never  can  my  heart  forsake 

Thy  heart  altho'  it  love  not  me. 

I  love  &c. 

I  cannot  love  but  one  alone, 

That  only  one  sweet  maid  art  thou; 
I  w^ouldnot  have  my  love  be  known, 
And  yet  I'd  have  thee  love  me  now. 

I  love  but  one, 

'Tis  thee,  still  thee, 
But  yet  that  one 
Will  ne'er  love  me. 


■^     -^     >fr     >fc-     ?^     -^     >^     >j^     vjr 

How  short  is  the  date  of  the  flower^ 

That  blooms  in  mortality's  bower! 
Its  cup  is  closed,  its  stem  is  dying; 

Too  soon,  alas!  'twill  fade  away, 
'Twill  wither  where  no  zephyr  sighing 

Allays  the  sun's  too  ardent  ray; 

For  passion  rules  the  burning  day. 
^  -^  -^  -^  -^^  -y^  -^  ^ 

POEMS.  Ill 


As  children  oft  o'er  verdant  meadows  stray, 
Along  the  vale,  or  climb  the  sunny  hill, 

To  cull  the  flowers  that  deck  th'  enameled  way, 
Then,  throw  them  down  to  gather  brighter  still, 

So,  I  have  wandered  by  Castalia's  stream; 

And,  gaily  oft,  the  pleasing  song  begun; 
And  then,  as  oft,  pursued  some  happier  theme, 

And  left,  at  last,  the  stated  task  undone. 

'Tis  thus,  the  busy  crowd,  who  pass  through  life 
Resolve,  each  moment,  on  their  future  bliss: 

Yet,  linger  in  the  paths  of  care  and  strife, 
And  thus,  at  last,  the  way  for  ever  miss 


Does  Phoebus  with  poetic  fire, 

Inflame  my  breast,  my  muse  inspire? 

Or  Fauns,  and  Nymphs  and  shepherd  queens, 

My  fancy  bless  with  sylvan  scenes? 

No!  Sweet  illusion,  'tis  not  mine, 
To  soar  on  epic  wing  divine, 
To  woo  the  Naiad  of  the  stream, 
Or,  in  the  vale  of  Hemus  dream. 

Or,  sport  with  Pan,  and  raise  the  song, 
Arcadia's  verdant  hills  among; 


Far  humbler  views  must  sway  my  heart, 
To  moralize  is  my  best  art. 

The  most,  if  Comus  bless  my  strain, 
My  Muse  exults  in  jocund  vein, 
And  feebly  makes  a  short  essay, 
To  mimic  wit  as  critics  say. 


(To  Ursula.) 
**Solomon  in  alibis  glory  was  not  arrayed  like  one  ofthese." 


Sweet  Lily  of  the  valley, 

Pale,  but  chaste  and  fair. 
Hanging  thy  bells  to  dally 

In  the  virgin  air; 
And  shed  their  sweet  caresses 

In  the  silent  shade, 
Where  robed  in  brighter  dresses, 

Gayer  flowers  fade. 


If  crimson  blushes  never  S 

Tinge  thy  pure  white  cup. 
No  cruel  sunshine  ever 

Dries  its  sweetness  up; 
Oh!  never  could'st  thou  flourish, 

Lowly  modest  flower. 

POEMS.  113 

Among  the  rays  that  nourish 
Folly's  painted  bower. 


The  lovely  maid  thus  neatly, 

To  her  bosom  prest, 
Wears  with  a  jii;race  as  sweetly. 

Modesty's  pure  vest. 
Where  follies  all  excluded. 

From  her  native  dale, 
Dwell  all  sweet  charms  secluded, 

In  their  virgin  veil. 


If  many  lovers  vanish, 

Seeking  light  one's  mirth. 
Her  coyness  will  not  banish 

Those  of  real  worth. 
Her  heart  could  never  cherish 

Heart  that  loves  to  rove; 
But  sad  and  chill  would  perish 

Where  it  could  not  love. 

Thus  may  thy  Poet  lonely, 

Live  to  fame  unknown; 
Or  share  that  glory  only. 

Which  is  like   thine  own. 
May  simple  merit  cover, 

With  her  silent  shade, 
Thy  bard,  who  is  no  lover 

Of  the  world's  parade. 




What!  is  she  wedded?  False  deceiver! 

My  first,  my  last  love  dream  is  over, 
She  knew  alas!  her  fond  believer 

Would  hide  her  frailty  like  a  lover. 

I  would  I'd  loved  her  like  a  brother, 
That  I  might  feel  a  brother's  gladness, 

To  see  her  wedded  to  another; 
But  now  I  feel  a  lover's  madness. 

How  she  with  'witching  charms  amused  me, 
Steeping  my  senses  in  delusion, . 

Woo'd  me  with  looks,  with  sighs  abused  me, 
And  triumph' d  in  my  sad  confusion. 

How  could  that  heart  so  pure,  so  holy, 
Which  no  suspicion  ever  shaded, 

Have  stooped  so  basely  and  so  lowly, 
To  deception  so  degraded. 

She's  not  the  girl,  that  wedded  newly; 

Than  her  true  heart,  no  heart  was  truer; 
My  Mary's  faith  was  plighted  truly. 

The  wedded  one  I  never  knew  her. 


Oh  the  page  of  this  life  maybe  dark, 
And  characters  dark  there  appear. 

If  we  read  it  by  sorrow's  dull  spark, 
With  eyes  that  are  dimmed  by  a  tear. 

POEMS.  115 

It  is  grief  that  our  weak  spirit  drowns, 

No  dear  friend  to  brighten  its  glee, 
Like  the  dismal  horizon  that  frowns, 

On  a  sunless  and  stormy  sea. 

It  is  not,  that  joys  fountains  are  scant, 

Nor  solely  on  mountdns  they  rise 5 
It  is  we,  who  for  absent  joys  pant, 

And  springs  of  the  valley  despise. 

'Tis  that  gloominess  hides  from  the  mind, 

The  scenes  which  hope  colored  there; 
And  the  blank  is  too  rashly  consigned 

To  the  hand  of  dull  niggard  care. 

Let  fresh  draughts  enliven  life's  blank. 
From  beauty's  and  joy's  pleasing  cup, 

If  the  chains  of  mortality  clank, 

Make  friendship  and  love  hold  them  up. 

If  no  blossoms  of  life  blush  around, 

If  no  tree  hangs  barthened  with  fruit, 
There  are  bushes  where  cool  shade  is  found, 

Their  green  will  our  spirits  recruit. 

And  even  in  Autumn's  dull  stage. 

When  hours  of  enjoyment  are  brief. 
Some  pleasure  may  still  tint  the  page, 

With  the  crimson  and  gold  of  the  leaf. 

Oh!  the  page  of  this  life  maybe  dark, 

And  characters  dark  there  appear. 
If  we  read  it  by  sorrow's  dull  spark, 


With  eyes  that  are  dimm'd  by  a  tear. 


Oh!  the  page  of  this  life  may  be  bright, 
And  characters  bright  there  appear; 

If  we  read  it  by  reason's  true  light, 
With  eyes  that  are  piercing  and  clear. 

It  is  not  that  this  world  is  too  bleak, 
Or  its  evils  too  sad,  or  too  long; 

It  is  man,  that's  inconstant  and  weak, 
His  wishes  too  ardent  and  strong. 

^Tis  that  heaven  has  sprinkled  with  joy. 
The  functions  that  nourish  our  dust; 

And  our  senses  now  kindle,  now  cloy, 
With  feelings  of  want  or  disgust. 

'Tis  the  joy-loving,  bliss-seeking  soul. 
That  chases  the  gleam  of  delight. 

Too  forgetful  of  reason's  control. 
Like  moth  chasing  meteor  at  night. 

For  she  sips  on  life's  desert  the  dew, 
Forgetting  the  bright  crystal  spring; 

But  the  drops  of  the  desert  are  few. 
And  they  to  the  bitter  soil  cling. 

Better  leave  ihe  scant  drops  on  the  soil, 
Thirst  on  o'er  the  woe  beaten  waste; 

And  not  drink  them,  till  reason,  our  toil 
Reward  with  the  water-spring's  taste. 

POEMS.  117 

He  is  wisest,  who  uses  things  right, 

Who  takes  from  the  dew. drop  a  kiss; 
And  cheer'd  by  its  sweet  smihng  light, 

Hastes  onto  the  water-spring's  bliss. 

Oh!  the  page  of  this  life  may  be  bright, 

And  characters  bright  there  appear!  ,i 

If  we  read  it  by  reason's  true  light, 

With  eyes  that  are  sparkling  and  clear. 



It  is  my  Edwards'  natal  day, 
Every  joy  to  him  belong! 
An  early  friend,  tho'  far  away, 
Cheerly  sings  his  birthday  song. 

The  winged  arrow  leaves  no  trace; 
Parted  ether  joins  again; 
But  not  the  brittle  moulded  vase, 
When  'tis  broken  once  in  twain. 


'Tis  thus  the  purer  union  lasts; 
Edward  thine's  too  pure  to  die! 
No  virtuous  friendship  absence  blasts, 
Formed  in  guileless  infancy, 


The  lovely  tint  that  paints  the  sky, 
Ere  the  morning  sun  is  seen; 


Is  wont  to  drink  a  brighter  dye, 
When  he  gilds  the  dewy  green. 

With  virtue's  fair  and  holy  hue, 
Thus  thy  youth  my  Edward  shone. 
And  now  is  changed  to  brighter  too, 
By  the  beams  of  manhood's  sun. 


And  as  the  ruddy  tint  declares, 
Day  shall  set  with  splendor  crown'd, 
Edward  may  thy  later  years, 
Shed  a  lasting  lustre  'round! 

On  thy  propitious  natal  day, 
Happy  friends  shall  hail  thy  star; 
And  pledge  thy  years  to  pass  away, 
Borne  on  Fortune's  splendid  car. 

Oh!  may'st  thou  'scape  the  Syren's  shore; 
Sip  no  Circe's  poison'd  bowl! 
But  sympathetic  pleasure  pour 
Magic  streams  upon  thy  soul! 


And  as  the  tender  eglantine 
Clasps  the  noblest  of  the  grove; 
Thy  manliness  may  beauty  twine. 
Blessing,  blest  in  purest  love! 

POEMS.  119 


Bright  like  the  ever  verdant  flower, 
Edward  may  thy  life  be  here, 
That  blooms  in  Hebe's  fragrant  bower, 
Sweetly  breathing  balmy  air! 


And  may  its  blossoms  thrive  unharm'd 
Till  the  mellow  fruit  be  cuirdl 
And  be  the  blighting  spirit  charm'd 
And  the  wasting  tempest  lulled! 


Oh!  never  from  thy  noble  heart 
Banish  our  sweet  friendship's  spell, 
His  duty  keeps  thy  friend  apart, 
Not  forgetting — Fare  thee  well! 


On  oi  theoi  philousin  npothneshet  neos. 
The  ripest  fruit  falls  firfet. 

His  life  is  gone,  his  course  is  run. 

His  bloom  of  youth  has  pass'd  away— 

A  rose  blush  faded  in  the  sun, 

A  dew  drop  vanished  from  the  day. 

Oh!  what  can  love  or  tears  avail? 

My  sorrow  cannot  life  recall, 

'Tis  vain  to  weep  or  sigh  or  wail— . 

The  great,  the  good,  the  brave  must  fall! 



Exalted  goodness  nobly  dies, 

Call'd  by  a  brother's  suffering  cries: 

The  youthful  brave  in  death  rejoice, 

Caird  by  thy  their  country's  warlike  voice: 

The  man  of  years  his  course  must  close, 

When  nature'calis  him  to  repose: 

But  why  did  Edward's  soul  take  wing? 

His  worth  was  ripe  in  youth's  sweet  springs 


Weep,  lovely  sisters,  weep 
O'er  little  William's  bier. 

Not  for  his  silent  sleep, 
But  for  your  exile  here. 

He  seem'd  no  mortal  child. 

But  cherub  strayed  fiom  heaven; 

So  fair,  so  sv/eet,  so  mild, 
To  banish  sorrow  given. 

His  smile  was  soothing  balm, 

His  kiss  a  holy  charm, 
A  Father's  grief  to  calm, 

A  widow's  heart  to  warm, 

Like   snow  drop  in  the  spring. 
On  earth's  pure  mantle  laid, 

Too  early  come  to  bring. 
The  bloom  of  joy  and  fade. 


Or  nipp'd  in  beauty's  birth, 
Like  rose  bud  on  its  stem. 

That  promised  once  to  earth 
Her  brightest,  purest  gem. 

Oh!  Sisters,  weep  no  more, 
O'er  happy  William's  bed; 

Sad  are  the  tears  you  pour, 
Now  little  William's  dead! 


Translations  from  the  Italian 


(To  Julia.) 


Bv  the  brink  of  a  fountain, 

Where  soft  zephyrs  blew, 
On  the  brow  of  a  mountain, 

A  violet  grew, 

Expanding  to  view, 

Its  petals  of  blue. 


On  a  mountahi  thus  cheering, 
Was  I  cradled  too, 

And  I  watched  o'er  the  'peering. 
Of  Love's  glances  true. 
From  eyes  of  like  blue. 
In  the  pure  child  I  knew. 



But  the  violet  never, 

Tho'  gemm'd  with  the  dew, 

Can  yet,  rival  for  ever, 

Those  weeping  eyes'  hue, 
Whence  dear  regard  drew, 
The  tear  drops  not  few. 


When  I  parted  first  leaving, 
The  hill  where  I  grew, 

And  beheld  her  deep  grieving. 
For  anguish,  I  knew 
Her  crushed  heart  must  rue. 
In  bidding  adieu. 


When  the  light  is  first  breaking, 
To  comfort  anew, 

The  lone  earth  that's  awaking, 
To  the  sun's  warm  view. 
No  more  drops  of  dew. 
Dim  the  violet's  hue. 


But  Jul'a  lamenting 
The  day  I  withdrew, 
With  vows  unrelenting, 
To  heaven's  bright  blue. 
Continues  to  sue, 
Still  faithful  and  true. 

Morth  Carolina  State  Library 

I  am  sailing  on  a  sea, 
That  will  never  pity  me, 
Without  a  sail, 

Without  a  helm, 
The  winds  assail, 

The  waves  o'erwhelm, 
And  the  black  clouds  gather  so  drear. 
Ah!  smaU  is  my  skill. 
And  against  my  will, 
I  must  go  where  fortune  may  veer. 
When  my  friends  all  depart. 

Innocence  only 
By  my  comfortless  heart, 

Will  stay  so  lonely, 
And  stand  on  the  deck. 
To  guide  me  to  wreck. 

The  drop  that  abandons  the  main, 
To  sprinkle  the  hills  and  the  plain, 
A  prisoner  goes, 

In  the  fountain's  source, 
A  passenger  flows. 
In  the  river's  course. 

Murmuring  ever, 

'Twill  in  sorrow  complain, 
Reposing  never, 

'Till  returned  to  the  main; 

Whence  its  birth  we  discover, 
Whence  its  v/aters  arose, 

Where,  its  wanderings  over,, 
There  it  hopes  to  repose. 




The  billows  that  roll 

From  poll  to  poll, 
The  breezes  that  play 

From  spray  to  spray, 

Are  fickle  less 

Than  woman's  love- 


Yet  simpleton  souls 
Whom  love  controls, 

For  woman  in  vain 
Sigh  and  complain, 
Nor  hope  the  less 
True  woman's  love. 


My  love  forget  you  not, 
When  death  shall  be  my  lot, 

How  my  heart  was  faithful  and  true, 
In  loving  only  you. 


My  ashes,  if  the  dead 
Can  love  in  their  chill  bed, 

Shall  still  in  the  tomb  e'en  be  true, 
In  loving  only  you. 

Whether  the  placid  deep 

Fawn  on  the  shore. 
Or  its  swelling  waves  sweep  ' 

With  frightful  roar, 
Is  a  crime  not  assign'd 
To  the  sea  but  the  wind,  f 

North  Carolina  State  LlbraiV 

GC      811.3  H325a 

Hart,  Alban  J. 
Attempts  at  rhyming  / 

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